Room to grow
Some days I am grateful just to have clean underwear. I have about 40 pairs. I have very few pairs of socks and one good pair of shoes. I don't need many material things to make me happy. I need projects like my garden.
One of my favorite projects is to grow a tiny garden in the spring. I buy some organic non GMO heirloom seeds. I figure if they are the product of generations of hearty living, they are a perfect match for me. I grow tomatoes every year. Two years ago, the vines shot up eight or nine feet. Last year was different. It was too cold so the vines did not really take off until fall. The seasons have passed. Instead of pulling out the vines, I got attached to these plants. Stubborn or foolish, I didn't want to give up on them. I could have used my pots for something else but I wanted to wait. It is march now. The vines have been in pots for almost a year. They are producing tomatoes, a few a week.
To me, the tomatoes are a metaphor for my life. Beautiful things come up but not necessarily where and when I expect them. If I continue to care for the things around me, eventually I will see the fruits of my labor.
I am very attached to these awkward tomatoes. It is spring again. It is time to plant new seeds. I am sentimental About my vines. I am going to let them grow a few more months as a reminder of the power of resilience. They survive as I survive. They are round, a little seedy, and able to hang anywhere.
One of my favorite projects is to grow a tiny garden in the spring. I buy some organic non GMO heirloom seeds. I figure if they are the product of generations of hearty living, they are a perfect match for me. I grow tomatoes every year. Two years ago, the vines shot up eight or nine feet. Last year was different. It was too cold so the vines did not really take off until fall. The seasons have passed. Instead of pulling out the vines, I got attached to these plants. Stubborn or foolish, I didn't want to give up on them. I could have used my pots for something else but I wanted to wait. It is march now. The vines have been in pots for almost a year. They are producing tomatoes, a few a week.
To me, the tomatoes are a metaphor for my life. Beautiful things come up but not necessarily where and when I expect them. If I continue to care for the things around me, eventually I will see the fruits of my labor.
I am very attached to these awkward tomatoes. It is spring again. It is time to plant new seeds. I am sentimental About my vines. I am going to let them grow a few more months as a reminder of the power of resilience. They survive as I survive. They are round, a little seedy, and able to hang anywhere.
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