We both crouched low over the long black earth beds, quietly pushing three seeds at a time into shallow rows.
"This is my favorite part of gardening," Tom suddenly exclaimed.
"Planting?"
"Yes! It's so hopeful. The optimism of seeds..."
"I like that. That phrase- the optimism of seeds."
"Right!" A smile began to spread across his face. "They're so little!" He held up his forefinger and thumb with just a tiny bit of space between them and started laughing. "Who would have thought??"
For the week that I have been here in Vermont, I have been eating the fruit of other nearby seeds- squash, corn, pasilla peppers from a plant I bought at half price from the nursery, several pounds of tomatoes I turned into homemade salsa, fresh herbs from the hill behind our house. Already, in this short amount of time, I have gone from opening cans of soup for every savory meal to leaning on local farmers and nature for fresh ingredients. I have a feeling it is one of the many changes in store for these next three years.
Like the optimism of seeds, and in the planting of a new garden, there is something hopeful about starting over. I felt some anxiety in this transition-- mostly because of my age, thinking I should not be doing this anymore. But the honest, quiet feeling is of peace. I find comfort in beginning again, standing at the cliff of infinity, the edge of potential, and letting go into a free fall.
Also, like a new garden harboring seeds of weeds and perennial plants built up over the years, there is no such thing as a clean slate. I have given up the myth of running away. Every beginning is loaded with past impressions, habits and hopefully people, but the possibility to grow something new is the door to infinity. The sudden change in my eating habits became possible after this shift in atmosphere, schedule, goals and, quite honestly, my relationship with (read: detaching from) technology. I have wanted it to be an aspect of my personality for many years, but couldn't break into the habit in the city. Now in rural life, I have found easy success.
What other new pieces of self lie in store? Reading more carefully after hundreds of hours briefing cases? Relying less on petroleum as I walk for transportation most days? Putting physical activity back into every day life? And how many of those will become perennial plants for my next transition, coming with me and enriching another new garden? These goals are so little but perhaps one day they will become something big and nourishing. Who would have thought??
"This is my favorite part of gardening," Tom suddenly exclaimed.
"Planting?"
"Yes! It's so hopeful. The optimism of seeds..."
"I like that. That phrase- the optimism of seeds."
"Right!" A smile began to spread across his face. "They're so little!" He held up his forefinger and thumb with just a tiny bit of space between them and started laughing. "Who would have thought??"
For the week that I have been here in Vermont, I have been eating the fruit of other nearby seeds- squash, corn, pasilla peppers from a plant I bought at half price from the nursery, several pounds of tomatoes I turned into homemade salsa, fresh herbs from the hill behind our house. Already, in this short amount of time, I have gone from opening cans of soup for every savory meal to leaning on local farmers and nature for fresh ingredients. I have a feeling it is one of the many changes in store for these next three years.
Like the optimism of seeds, and in the planting of a new garden, there is something hopeful about starting over. I felt some anxiety in this transition-- mostly because of my age, thinking I should not be doing this anymore. But the honest, quiet feeling is of peace. I find comfort in beginning again, standing at the cliff of infinity, the edge of potential, and letting go into a free fall.
Also, like a new garden harboring seeds of weeds and perennial plants built up over the years, there is no such thing as a clean slate. I have given up the myth of running away. Every beginning is loaded with past impressions, habits and hopefully people, but the possibility to grow something new is the door to infinity. The sudden change in my eating habits became possible after this shift in atmosphere, schedule, goals and, quite honestly, my relationship with (read: detaching from) technology. I have wanted it to be an aspect of my personality for many years, but couldn't break into the habit in the city. Now in rural life, I have found easy success.
What other new pieces of self lie in store? Reading more carefully after hundreds of hours briefing cases? Relying less on petroleum as I walk for transportation most days? Putting physical activity back into every day life? And how many of those will become perennial plants for my next transition, coming with me and enriching another new garden? These goals are so little but perhaps one day they will become something big and nourishing. Who would have thought??
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