Digging in the dirt is a favorite pastime of mine, but lately I’ve had no time to do it. Correction, I hadn’t made the time to do it. And I’d been moaning about how when spring arrives our yard will be so sad without our sprightly pink and orange tulip blossoms. Last summer after they bloomed, I dug them up and stored them in the garage. Nicely labeled and all. Last week, I saw them staring at me when I hoisted the tubs of Christmas decorations from the shelf.
Finally, I stopped moaning and started digging. Planting bulbs, planting hope. It felt good. So good that the next day, my whole body ached. I had to rake five bags of leaves to even get to the dirt.
On a semi-related topic, a few days ago I received a call from an unknown phone number in New Jersey. And I answered. (I normally don’t.) Oh, a political survey! I’d never been called by a pollster or anyone asking my political opinions, so I agreed to talk, and she seemed surprised I didn’t hang up on her. Questions involved my opinion of Obama and President Elect Trump and my overall view of the economy and home prices and whether or not I thought the swamp should be drained. Most of the questions felt open ended to me, and I wanted to qualify my answers. An easy yes or no to future home prices? I think much depends on the area of the country unless the country as a whole has a complete meltdown.
It could happen, I suppose.
Overall, my answers fit into the category of I don’t like the direction we’ve been going. And, I don’t like the direction we are likely to go. Yet, interestingly, when I was quizzed about my personal expectations for the future, I scored in the optimistic zone. I’m cautiously optimistic in spite of ourselves?
While I planted tulip bulbs, I thought about the questions and my answers. And I realize no matter what comes, I believe we will survive, my tulips will bloom, life will go on. This year, last year, next year will be a blip in the scheme of history. And progress is typically measured not in a straight upward sloping line, but more like this…
Even when we’re upside down on a section of the roller coaster and about to lose our lunch, we’re still way higher than where we started.
As I planted my bulbs, I felt hopeful. The soil does that to me. Gardening is hopeful. And I was reminded of the old proverb, society grows when men plant trees whose shade they will never sit under. Or something like that.
This morning the temperature is 13 degrees! Time stands still, frozen, while my bulbs are warm in the ground. Waiting for the right time to bloom. Waiting and waiting.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
Nikki Panofsky, Waiting On The Sun