LJ Idol: Oubaitori

[drippedonpaper]

Seed packets feel like possibility in my hand, on my shelf. The front is so colorful, bursting with flavor, I almost feel I can taste the fruit or vegetable pictured. Just touching seeds, instantly I fall into a daydream of the gardener I could become. I could be that person shyly adding a pie to a potluck table, nodding quietly if someone asked if it's homemade. "And she grew the peaches herself!" someone always adds in my dream. "You have to try it!"

My imagination is vivid. No matter my goals, my dreams usually include smiles of others. I want to light up worlds, or states, or people, or heck, even one person. I should have dreamed perhaps of money, or promotions, of accolades or of awards. I just want smiles. Brief, fleeting, but oh! The smile at a flower or at the snapping taste of a new carrot. Smiles fertilize my soul.

I struggle with is trying to decipher which seeds I need to cultivate. Which people can I help and which cannot flourish in the only soil and climate I have to offer?

There are three little seeds I started long ago. It's so stupendously satisfying when they grow, even if just an inch. Look at these darlings! So tall, so green, so full of future! And I was there. I watered when they were just seeds. So much progress. I got to see every step!

I'm the type of gardener, the type of mother, that maybe is good on the cuddling and hugging and listening and keeping close and checking in and loving. I'm finding that I need to grow into the type of mom who lets her vines twine farther and farther out of the flower bed, even if they are straying near an ant hill or into some dry, sunny soil. But nothing ever grows there! That's why that patch of ground is bare. Why would my vine twine into the foot path? It will get crushed and broken! I want to coax them straight back into my flower bed. Better yet, a nice safe pot. I can carry it inside, place it right in my line of sight.

Who am I to decide the journey of my plants? I thought I planted tress, but it seems at least one was a vine. And the current flowers, I mean, I guess I mixed up my packets because I don't think this variety grows around here.

It doesn't. Grow around here.

And I must let go. Let the vine wander where it may, far away from my hose and my watering can. Do they have fertilizer there, wherever "there" will be? What if it wanders and frost falls? How can I cover a vine from far away? I don't even know what this is supposed to look like so I don't even know if she's growing.

I don't know what my garden is supposed to look like any more. I feel my dreams of pies, praise, and smiles slipping farther and farther away. How can I measure a plant long distance? What if she's wilting, I feel like she's wilting. But every time I run there, fertilizer in hand, I'm turned away.

Should I force this vine to climb a lattice? Coil it around, nice, tall, and contained? Would that work or would it wither? Can I even train it anymore?

When these seeds hit my hands so many years ago, I promised that nothing would hurt them. I smoothed soil with my own hands, picked off bugs and spider webs with my bare finger tips. I rotated the pots carefully so they would grow evenly, straight and tall not bending too far.

Though I would faithfully all day and tend these plants faithfully for my life time, I am learning good gardeners know only propagation can save a species. Sometimes enduring generation of plants involve a lot of risk. We must prune off our best leaves and stems, slips that might endure and send them off. Off they speed in cars, trains, and automobiles! But what if they are left it in the sun? What if they aren't watered in their hotel room? "Wet the paper towel. Nestle it in a cup of water."

"I know, I know." They wave me off. The years of my tears, a leaf within their hands. What if they snap it? It's easy to crush a stem. What if future rooms don't have windows?

"Lightly, lightly" I whisper, realizing I'm alone.

If my garden suffers drought, perhaps this beloved plant DNA will live on in other places. And I'll never know. I will never know.

How do I live with that unknowing?

Somehow I thought I'd ... I thought I'd get to see the blossoms. Pick the fruit.

I am learning to grow around my unknowing. As my vines wander and branch out, I am forced to look at the garden left behind.

Not as a burial ground, empty of dreams and life and hope. I must fertilize what is left. Is anything left? Turn the soil, look for life. Maybe even add some worms. Pound with a hoe, crack and break. Preparation and destruction look alike. The difference is what you do after you have fallen into pieces.

Maybe it's time to go back, back to the store of dreams and hopes. Perhaps an orchard wasn't meant to be my whole life.
Maybe I need to try wheat. Or corn.
Cactus or violets.

I don't know what I'm good at anymore.

But the gift is in the journey. In the weeding, In the waiting. The gift is watching for tender sprouts. Building a scare crow to keep the birds away. Trusting that somewhere, under the frost, bulbs still grow.

I must turn my face to the sun and put my hands back into the dirt. Some cycles are over. I can't cry for endings. Life is only in beginnings. Beginning again. Again.
To everything there is a season.
I have wept too long in fallow ground.

It's time to grow.

Comments

[chasing_silver]

I loved the metaphors in this, so much.

[fausts_dream]

Never been a parent but it does seem a lot like gardening. My gardener was very hands on and it was absolutely a blessing and a curse, it seems that in giving it this much thought I bet you are a good par...er...gardener.

[adoptedwriter]

I love the garden / seds metaphor for your children. It's all so very true!

[xeena]

These are such beautiful metaphors here and even though I'm not a parent, this is so true as well <3

[muchtooarrogant]

I liked this. Relating kids to gardening made sense to me, having two myself, and although my wife struggles more than I do, I know what a challenge it is to let them go their own way. The ending was my favorite part though--start that garden over and live for yourself. Yes.

Dan

[roina_arwen]

I enjoy the metaphors here, and the rambling tone.

[drippedonpaper]

Thanks. Sorry it rambles so much. I have a lot on my mind, especially about one of my kids. I guess the rambling is my attempt to untangle my mind. Thanks for commenting!

[mollywheezy]

I loved your gardener/mom analogy, and this piece is so beautifully written. Great job! :)

[halfshellvenus]

I really liked the weaving in and out of gardening and raising children, of
nurturing and yet trying to let the plant (the child) grow as it needs to.

Preparation and destruction look alike. The difference is what you do after you have fallen into pieces.
Loved this line.

Our first child leaving home was so much more brutal than either of us expected. I felt that, throughout this piece.

[banana_galaxy]

I felt a lot of pain reading parts of this. It sounds like you're going through a rough time as a mother. I'm not quite at the stage where my kids want to leave. They keep telling me they don't want to. Even my soon-to-be-an-adult child who turns 18 in January. I can't even imagine how I'll feel when they do reach a point where they'll tell me they want to leave.

[drippedonpaper]

I will message you on FB. Hugs.

[erulissedances]

It is hard to let go, but in letting go, you maintain contact. In holding tight, they will break the bonds just to feel the sun from a different vantage point.

- Erulisse (one L)

[drippedonpaper]

Yes. There are nuances though. I will message you.

[bleodswean]

What a great visual for your journey and experience as a mother! I love the idea that "Life is only in beginnings." Here's to more growth!

[swirlsofpurple]

I suppose it's such a human thing to want smiles.

A lovely metaphor, beautifully expounded on.

[murielle]

Aww, this is lovely. The cycles of life. The life cycles of plants and children. Not unalike! The need planning and nurturing and all the things you've listed to grow healthily and become what they are meant to be.

You've told it all beautifully. ❤❤❤

[alycewilson]

My seed has grown into a tall supple grapevine!

I loved the line about wanting to cover up and protect the vines long distance.

[rayaso]

These were wonderful metaphors! It is hard to let vines be vines and wander where they will. Still, you planted them in your garden and their roots go deep, so in the end they will be fine. It's just so hard letting them go.

[inkstainedfingertips]

The metaphor in this piece is truly beautiful. It's beautifully written and the sentiment wonderfully conveyed. Put your hands back in the dirt. I hope you find that thing that makes your garden flourish again.

[static_abyss]

This was such a beautiful piece. I loved the plant/vines metaphor and the loving way you describe taking care of the plants ♥️