This post is about gardening. Just in case unclear.
I walked home from work today because B had the car because Ari had a half day, and she took him to the aquarium. We have only one car because we only need two every six months. I keep meaning to get a bike, but I want a Vespa, and B worries I will die. I keep trying to tell her a Vespa is not a motorcycle, but a scooter, and when she does that whole search-the-interwebs-for-scary-statistics-to-dissuade-your-loved-one-from-buying-a-motorcycle-so-she-doesn't-die thing, she needs to be searching for scooters in particular, because everyone knows the people who ride scooters are math nerds, and the people who ride motorcycles are Hell's Angels. And those are different people.
Anyway, she wants me to buy a bike that you pedal. We are at a stalemate, and nobody has bought anything, so I walked home. It's four miles, mostly along park trails. I could have gotten a ride with a colleague, but I can't stand that shit. You have to make conversation, and I've just been conversing with 150 twelve-year-olds all day. I could have waited for B and Ari to pick me up, but I hate waiting. It's actually rather a disability of mine.
But, damn it, the point is, I saw a beaver. A big, mother-fucking beaver. I'm not using a euphemism here, people. (I wish. . .) I am talking about the animal. He might have been larger than Ari. He saw me and, absurdly, ran away, so that I could not take his picture. Why he ran, I do not know. He could have wiped the floor with me. This was on the tennis courts of the high school near the school where I teach. There wasn't anywhere for him to hide, especially given his girth, but he managed, in spite of weighing 2,000 lbs, to move quickly. He was under the bleachers before I knew what was up. The end.
Only, there is more. I used google maps' satellite thingy to not get lost on my walk home. I've worked in same school for two years and lived in same home for I don't know how many, but I have that disability, too. Directions and patience lacking. The google maps' satellite thingy rocks. Here, look!
Google Maps' satellite thingy, with beaver-sighting tennis court.
Look at that geometry, people!
It totally turns me on. I mean: Vespa-rider wannabe over here.
Onto the gardening. My friend Mara visited this weekend, and I showed her my lettuces, and she said, "Oh, you have a green thumb!" I was extremely excited about this. Mara is one of those people who knows how to do everything, and when you try to tell her something new, something you're good at, she already knows it. So, I was pretty psyched about this compliment. Because, of course, Mara is an excellent gardener. Honestly, I'd like to see the shit she plants not grow. It wouldn't dare. Mara has like seven siblings and raised them all, which is a feat, I tell you, given I am a grown woman barely keeping my one child alive. In the process of raising all her siblings, she learned how to do everything ever. It's kind of annoying, but not when she says I have a green thumb. Then, it's all good.
So, I bought this lime tree. I ordered it on Amazon. I wanted to find a seed, and I wanted it to be organic, but failed on both counts (lime shortage). I eventually gave up on that pipe dream and figured I would detox it from fertilizer in my organic soil after a few seasons. I also decided to get one that was 4-5 years old, so I could have fruit now.
Well, that didn't work. I wasn't paying attention when I ordered or something because when the box came, it was about the size of a champagne box. And then when I took the tree out, I was all like "where's the rest??" This led to a dilemma. This wasn't the tree I'd expected, but I couldn't just toss it. It was a living being! I needed to help it out. It had some holes in its leaves (B called it "half-eaten") and some kind of fungus, too. I had space for only one lime tree, and this had to be the one, unless I wanted to become a murderer. No, thank you.
I put it in an enormous pot with my detox soil and sprayed it with some baking soda/dish soap mix (for the fungus) and hoped for the best. The holes in its leaves didn't disappear, but there were no new holes, and the fungus went away almost immediately. It is definitely looking better, though still tiny. It'll be years before we get limes, and by then the shortage will be over. Still, I'm happy.
Gardening is miraculous. I had no idea. I just wanted better salads. When I was reading about gardening last summer, I kept coming across this concept of being anti-automatic watering because it makes you spend less time with your plants. I thought that was bananas. I mean, they don't even speak English--get a grip! As time passed, I realized what it meant was that with time spent you notice things, like how the holes in leaves are doing, and you (if not a sociopath) develop a love thing. This motivates you to water that shit, moderately, three times a day, when you could just drown it once. It makes it so you can't forget them. It's like the natural order or some such.
When Mara said I had a green thumb, I was thrilled because of the source, but even more so because of the task. Gardening is soul work; it's hard as fuck. Every part of it is heavy and tedious. There's so much kneeling--it makes you shake. It makes you smell like actual shit. Ain't nothin' dirtier. But when you eat that lettuce, you taste your own love, in your mouth. You eat it. What other thing can do this? Tell me. Because I wanna do that, too.
