I have this impression of myself: I can do anything.
It was instilled in me by my parents, my teachers, my friends: you can be whatever you want to be.
In my vision of the future, I will grow much of my own food, with ample to share with friends and neighbors.
I come from a family of farmers!
But I'm not so sure that I am good at gardening. I could blame the cat for digging where I planted seeds. I could blame the inebriated state that I was in when we transplanted some starts.
I could blame the ivy and the red sails.
But the sad truth is that I am not personally experienced with growing food, and most of my successes have been at least partially accidental.
I killed the most of the borage. The strawberries from last year didn't produce last year, there are no blossoms and some are going senescent.
The bleeding hearts are halfway alive.
But the peppermint is going strong, and so is the fennel. Sunflower and bean sprouts are coming up, and so are the snow peas, corn, broccoli and lettuce. I haven't seen the nasturtiums or the squash yet, nor the cucumbers.
Well, it's only been 11 days since I planted. Maybe I could be patient.
My garden could be a reflection of the self, and so maybe I should not be so critical at this vulnerable point when all the sprouts are just bursting forth, so small and unique. Maybe I should be appreciative of the raw potential and recognize that I have the power to nurture the nature of the garden.
I'll keep you posted, and maybe, come September, I'll share some of my bounty with you.
That is, if there is any.
