I sometimes think one of the advantages of being a non-gardener is that I am ridiculously excited by the miracle of a plant. If the large-scale responsibility of gardening is too overwhelming for me, I am not denied the pleasure of watching, in minute detail, the progress of a single plant. And now I have been given all the excitement of tiny-scale gardneing in the form of a strawberry growing kit.
A little under three weeks ago, thanks to a wonderfully imaginative and thoughtful gift, I planted strawberry seeds in a cheery red window sill pot. I made a poor job of it, not anticipating the problem that such tiny seeds would create. I strongly suspect that, despite my best efforts, most of the seeds came away on my hands rather than transferring themselves to roughly the right depth within the waiting soil. Despite dutifully maintaining moist but not wet conditions in a full sun position ever since, I have been convinced that I have been watering barren soil and that I will need to go in search of more seeds, ready to try again.
But this morning the miracle happened. Despite not knowing what I'm doing, one tiny, tiny shoot has miraculously sprung up anyway. How much will it grow? How well will I manage the responsibility of stewardship as it attempts to bring forth life? At least, for all my ignorance, it enjoys ideal sun conditions. So I will now watch and wait, trying not to check its progress every other minute.
In the same way that a crowded city can lead us to deplore humanity, a plethora of plants, no matter how beautiful, can reduce our capacity to notice life at the individual and most miraculous level. I cannot wait to see what becomes of this new baby.
A little under three weeks ago, thanks to a wonderfully imaginative and thoughtful gift, I planted strawberry seeds in a cheery red window sill pot. I made a poor job of it, not anticipating the problem that such tiny seeds would create. I strongly suspect that, despite my best efforts, most of the seeds came away on my hands rather than transferring themselves to roughly the right depth within the waiting soil. Despite dutifully maintaining moist but not wet conditions in a full sun position ever since, I have been convinced that I have been watering barren soil and that I will need to go in search of more seeds, ready to try again.
But this morning the miracle happened. Despite not knowing what I'm doing, one tiny, tiny shoot has miraculously sprung up anyway. How much will it grow? How well will I manage the responsibility of stewardship as it attempts to bring forth life? At least, for all my ignorance, it enjoys ideal sun conditions. So I will now watch and wait, trying not to check its progress every other minute.
In the same way that a crowded city can lead us to deplore humanity, a plethora of plants, no matter how beautiful, can reduce our capacity to notice life at the individual and most miraculous level. I cannot wait to see what becomes of this new baby.