My seeds arrive
My Ferrari Enzo is making a tight, hairpin turn while passing a Porsche GT2 RS at Laguna Seca. I hear ringing which enters my slumber as a warning buzzer of an impending crash. I brace for the contact, the phone rings again and my dream fades. My wife picks up the receiver, says, "OK thank you," hangs up and yells, "Yahoo, It's a snow day!" I offer a lifted hand with eyes still closed waiting for the congratulatory high-five for the found free day off work. Turning off the alarm, I nod back to sleep and begin my day of leisure.
Leisure is a luxury. Today I am supposed to work from 7:45 a.m. to 3:45 p.m. counseling at the elementary school, 4-5:15 p.m. teaching at the college then 5:30-8:30 p.m. at my private practice. Twelve inches of snow has closed the college and the school district. My clients can't make it to my office so today I have nothing to do. Slowly reading the paper I enjoy my third cup of coffee thinking, "Should I do something productive with this found day?" I decide to nap. Waking from my second nap, I wander to the mailbox and now, I have a purpose - my seeds have arrived.
Loyal readers of this column remember eight weeks ago I ordered seed catalogs and dreamt of summer. My summer dreams are reenergized as I open the package and read the names of the seeds inside. Looking at each seed pack I visualize their garden placement, recipes I will cook from the vegetables and past memories of sitting and watching my plants grow. I dream of the summer sun darkening my pale skin as vitamin D energizes my body and this ice-cold winter day becomes a forgotten memory.
It's time to start my seeds indoors if I wish to extend the short North Idaho summer. Without a head start this winter my onions, tomatoes, peppers and pumpkins will be pretty plants and not vegetable producers. So, my wife and I clean our growing room, reinstall the grow lights stored last summer and prepare the planters to accept the seed. As I tamp the seeds into their beds, dirt develops under my fingernails and I am gardening again.
Gardening is personal, emotional and spiritual. When one grows and nurtures plants that have the potential to feed one's body, the process nurtures one's soul. When the nurturing of the plant fails and the plant dies, one becomes frustrated, disappointed and discouraged.
Last winter my tomato starts were beautiful. After planting the heirloom seeds, thinning, repotting then repotting again, I placed the plants outside on May 3 for their inaugural first night under the stars. An unexpected frost killed my babies and almost broke my gardening spirit. I must disclose: my wife, watching me put the plants outside, warned it might be too early and suggested I wait a few more days before leaving the plants outside all night. I shrug her suggestion off noting, "I watched the weathercast and they said it will not freeze tonight." She, knowing my stubbornness, says, "OK, but I warned you." After 30 years of marriage one might think I have learned that my wife is usually right but no, I've not learned that wisdom yet. I won't make the same mistake this year.
I stew for a day or two, accept my fate and purchase hybrid tomato starts grown commercially in a large industrial greenhouse. My dream of growing an exclusively heirloom garden with nonengineered plants dies with my tomatoes.
My father-in-law's dream of farming died with his tomatoes. He planted an acre of tomatoes in Frenchtown, Mont., nursing and weeding the field for two months. His unexpected frost came on the Fourth of July in a freak storm killing his tomatoes, his dream of farming and his love for the state of Montana.
On this snowy, negative four-degree day in North Idaho, I dream of spring. While waiting for my seeds to sprout, I plan to prepare the outside beds with cow poop and oyster shells. I wait for warmer weather to trim the sage, oregano, chives and thyme in preparation for new growth and note to check the granny smith and Fuji apple trees for winter damage. The blackberry bushes need tending but the snow is too deep to work in. I have to accept this day of leisure. There will be plenty of work in the days to come.
Bill Rutherford is a psychotherapist, public speaker, elementary school counselor, adjunct college psychology instructor and executive chef, and owner of Rutherford Education Group. Please e-mail him at bprutherford@hotmail.com and check out www.foodforthoughtcda.com.