I must confess that unlike many of my favorite friends, I am no more than a random gardener. I am stunned and often perplexed by their rambling rose bushes, their flowering dogwoods, their hardy and exultant perennials. Part of my marginal attempts is due to pure laziness, as I know that gardening is an art that can be studied and learned. Still, I persist in treating my beloved and woodsy piece of New Hampshire as though it were a huge gambling parlor. As soon as winter starts to yield to the light and warmth of spring, I am out there for hours at a time, clearing last year’s oak leaves, digging and straining loom, watching for little green shoots to appear. The natural beauty of the woods surrounding my house captivates me. How can I frame it?
So I begin to move my poor plants around, uprooting the little darlings gently, hoping that they will not mind the jolt. Hoping that they will settle into their new homes. “Oh, why not?” I say to myself as the rich soil curves under my hands. That is the gambling part. It doesn’t cost a thing and it scratches my gambling itch. Trim and shape the natural bushes to my liking, feed a wild rose, punctuate the forest edge with bright annuals that just might survive in the shade of my huge oaks. You just never know what will happen.
Gardening is a great distraction in the middle of this pandemic, which is beginning to remind me of what happens when you discover a hair in your biscuit, as they say down south. It threatens to cloud our whole horizon, demanding our attention. Yet the warm earth is full of potential as we head into the light of summer. Many things in our lives are COVID19 proof. Why not plant a few seeds? What have you got to lose?
