I wasn't much in favour of gardening when I was young. It was something we had to do. A chore. After all if we were going to eat those brussels sprouts at dinner we had better make sure they were weeded and watered.
Of course, It is not like we were asked if we wanted to eat those brussels sprouts either. It was something we had to do. A chore. After all, if we were going to grow them, we had better well eat them too.
Fast forward 40 years, add a family, a Parkinson's diagnosis, and some country living: now I enjoy gardening. I still grow things I do not want to eat, but other people are grateful that I can share with them. I can spend hours working on my garden, and enjoy it. It is a place of refuge. It is nature's therapy.
For many plants you see a life cycle in a season. They sprout, grow and are harvested within a few months. It reminds me of my life - much longer, but still birth to death is just a dash in time. Most plants thrive when I care for them. Others do well with little or no care. Despite everything I try, there are some that just do not survive. And there are those that grow no matter how hard I try to get rid of them.
Last weekend we had a significant frost in my area. Many plants were damaged by the cold. But one thing I noticed is the worst hit ones were the straightest and tallest of the bunch, the ones that looked to be doing the best. The ones that were smaller or growing crooked seemed to handle the cold much better. I think that they have faced more adversity in their short lives, and thus were better able to repel the attack of Jack Frost.
Now do me a favour. Reread the last two paragraphs. Think about people instead of plants.