I don't remember the last time I got this dirty.
(Relax, this isn't that kind of blog, although I can give you some links if you want).
I've been looking back a lot these past months, partly because there are so many disconnected, dangling pieces and buried treaures... and partly because there has been little for which to look forward.
No one factored seven months living alone in temporary housing or months living under the hanging fiscal cleaver of the the county budget crisis. ("How's the new job?" "Great if we can make payroll this week.")
The purchase of the family cottage may be the ultimate looking back, but it opened a door on the future. Suddenly there are plans we can count on.
This week I make my last trip to Georgia as a homeowner there, my cats come back with me. Our summer is full, not just of concerts and work, but family parties and things Charlie and I will do together.
We've lost seven months of the 10 years we've been together. We can't bring them back, but we can finally go forward.
Virtually every garden salad made or served during that southern decade brought the same refrain.
"Why can't they grow tomatoes here?"
Too hot. Sandy soil. Latitudinal issues, There are dozens of possibilites inevitably discussed when more than one former Yankee gathers.
I am counting down the weeks to the abundance of summer which will arrrive shortly here, but knew a downtown highrise was not the place to plant our own.
The unexpected advent of the cottage, with the fragrant near-black soil where I used to dig fishing worms for my grandfather ,opened up a little plot of possibilitiy.
I stopped at various nurseries and roadside stands on my afternoon cottage run yesterday, excited about the surprise that would await Charlie when he arrives on Friday night.
"You're about a week late," I kept hearing. "We've already put what we had left in the ground."
But the second last one added that one of the produce stands on the reservation might have some left.
There were three giant plants, covered with blossoms and already producing green tomatoes. We agreed on a price that was more than I expected to pay and less than they thought they'd get.
At the Ace Hardware up the road, I bought two big bags of Miracle Grow garden soil. When I got back into the car, the smell of tomato plants dominated. I wanted to just sit there and absorb what I had missed for the last 30 plus years.
There was only a small hand trowel in the cottage shed, so I sat splay-legged and dug between my knees, covering my legs with soil more than once. I mixed the purchased soil with my land in deep scooping handfuls. Earthworms and chubs ran through my fingers.
My cousins stopped by occasionally and teased me about animals and cousins who may pilfer the fruit, but no one commented on my enthusiastic, unorthodox gardening style. My finger nails were topped with jet-black crescents and every slight skin crevice was darkly lined. The dirt veneer extended well over my elbows and knees. As the plants settled in, I carefully placed the cages around them gingerly threading the leafy stems and avoiding the root structure as I eased the metal wire into the ground.
With that it was official. It's time to look forward.
And it's going to be delicious.



Copyright 2005 Judi Griggs