Then we all took some time to list all of the things that are “a lot” right now, and then picked one and wrote about it for five minutes. So here is my five-minute completely unedited freewrite, which will serve as my post for today!!
The Garden
Out of all the things I could be worrying about right now, why the garden? Is it because it is something I always do every spring? Is it because it's something where the longer I wait, the less productive it will be? That need to not only capitalize on that burst of spring energy, but also time passes too quickly and then it's too late for lettuce and spinach and radishes, and it's time for tomatoes and green beans and weeds and summer heat, and I stop watering and I'm longing for fall, and for the death of the garden and a cessation to all the labor of summer, the weeding and the harvesting and the canning and the cooking, and the quietude of winter?
Or is it because I am terrified of what is happening in our world, and I feel a need to ensure that I can feed my family from our own soil, that I can give my children security in green shoots and the reassurance that life goes on, that life will always go on, that we can always coax more from the earth as we pull out the winter-shriveled plants to make room for the new seeds.
Or is it a return to the woman I was ten years ago--the woman who was confident and assured of her place in the world; the woman was flush with the righteousness of youth and unwavering belief, the woman who had small children with small problems and the most pressing question of the day was whether the tomatoes should become bubbling sauce or frozen whole...
Out of all the things I could be worrying about right now, why the garden? Is it because it is something I always do every spring? Is it because it's something where the longer I wait, the less productive it will be? That need to not only capitalize on that burst of spring energy, but also time passes too quickly and then it's too late for lettuce and spinach and radishes, and it's time for tomatoes and green beans and weeds and summer heat, and I stop watering and I'm longing for fall, and for the death of the garden and a cessation to all the labor of summer, the weeding and the harvesting and the canning and the cooking, and the quietude of winter?
Or is it because I am terrified of what is happening in our world, and I feel a need to ensure that I can feed my family from our own soil, that I can give my children security in green shoots and the reassurance that life goes on, that life will always go on, that we can always coax more from the earth as we pull out the winter-shriveled plants to make room for the new seeds.
Or is it a return to the woman I was ten years ago--the woman who was confident and assured of her place in the world; the woman was flush with the righteousness of youth and unwavering belief, the woman who had small children with small problems and the most pressing question of the day was whether the tomatoes should become bubbling sauce or frozen whole...
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