Turning new ground is slow going with only a tiller. John has went over and over it. To have been a garden years before, the land has firmly attached itself now. We are behind in planting. Rain day after day has made it hard to till, or plant. The earth turns to clumps of rooted mud.
We have our potatoes in and our onions. Both scallions and regular. That is all. No lettuce, cabbage, carrots… things that should be out already or starting in peat pots inside. The seeds are waiting on our kitchen table.
I planted onions today quickly, hoping the ground was not so tough that it would stunt the growth of the plants. In the past few days, a fear has come over me. What if we work hard at all of this and nothing grows? I’ve planted things my whole life with failures and victories. More victories than failures. I don’t have a solid reason to feel that things wouldn’t flourish in our ground. Just the fear that it won’t.
I think about my girls. Everyday seeds are planted in their fresh minds. Ideas taking root, and my every move evaluated for positive or negative. The tone of my words. How I choose to spend my time. From these observations they either will know they are loved or not.
I don’t want to be tough ground where efforts clump. I want the strength to steady myself and if nothing else be a consistent mother. A consistent gardener.
I noticed some of the dirt had washed away from the side of a potato mound in our garden after last night’s hard rain. I bent down and wiggled the piece of potato I cut and buried. It was anchored firm, and tiny green and purple sprouts peeked from the top. I gently added more dirt and went to the cabin satisfied.