Easter Tomatoes!

Yesterday was a busy day at the garden. I transplanted the butternut squash, and some of the tomatoes. The tomatoes, my beautiful tomatoes. My little helpers, the kind of kids you can rely on to set the table every night. Reliable and trustworthy, if you love them, they love you back.  I’m growing several different varieties this year, and had started well.  I shouldn’t have touched them. I know better. They are not strong enough to endure the change, their roots are still too weak to grab on to new soil, they didn’t even have their second set of leaves! They were getting too tall for the greenhouse. And more importantly, I was impatient. My ego got the best of me. “But you can nurse them!” The mind will say anything. I thought yesterday marked the day of the Tomato Massacre. After a prayer of forgiveness, I started anew and sowed more tomato seeds. I promised to practice patience.

This morning I woke up to seeing the presumed dead had come back to life! How appropriate that they rose to life on Easter! Tomato Zombies or Christian Tomatoes?! The Universe works in mysterious ways!

I sowed the herb seeds yesterday as well. Two varieties of cilantro, another sweet basil, italian parsley, borage to keep bugs away, and another catnip. I also sowed the marigolds. They’re excellent bug repellants, and help out their tomato friends.

All in all, it was a great weekend for the garden. Gripping emotion and supernatural effects included. Happy Easter!

climbing over the crib’s rails

Today I transplanted the butternut squash. They were outgrowing their seedling greenhouse. Their leaves were grazing the ceiling, in an attempt, I am certain, of pushing through, throwing the infamous rock on the glass ceiling, and asserting their independence. Squash plants are stubborn and strong. Like rebellious teenagers and historical leaders, they find it easy to claim their own space, and their own pace to gather control of themselves and their environment. This is painting them in a good light, and because my perception of them comes from love. Others might describe them as bullies or imperialist dictators, taking over land that does not belong to them, suffocating their neighbors for light, territory, and resources. Still, right now they are my independence-seeking toddlers, who have outgrown their cribs, and are insisting on that coveted Disney character bed. With a bit of a heavy heart, for they are no longer my tiny babies, I have complied. They stand happy in their new abodes, a bit confused and apprehensive about the change, but at the same time claiming victory over my compliance.

As I laid them in their pots, I reassured them, and whispered, in that annoying baby talk reserved for infants. They smiled at me and loudly declared “We are not babies anymore, mama”. Very well, it was a lesson that will undoubtedly prepare me for my own human toddler.

Now that their greenhouse spots are empty, it’s time to sow more seeds!