And I don't mean the holiday season.
I'm talking about the growing excitement surrounding the old past time of gardening. I planted my first Ed Hume seeds indoors just a week ago. Maybe a little overzealous on my part, but I don't care. It's the beginning of a new planting era.....uh, I mean season. Another shot as a scaled-down farmer. And I take it seriously. I would be lying if I said I didn't immediately get a little anxious about the outcome of those cute, little seedlings. I have them placed perfectly in our breakfast nook; it's nice and warm and always bright (even in Seattle.) I feel like the moment I place each seed securely in its spot, I promise them the world....just like I do with my 13 month old son. In fact, my husband thought I was talking to my son one morning when, to his realization, I was hovering over my indoor dirt patch (aka: Jiffy Greenhouse Seedling Starter) talking to them and encouraging them to peek their little selves out. Yes, it's completely ridiculous. But something comes over me once those seeds touch dirt. It takes on a life all its own.
But, I'm not even going to pretend I know what I'm doing. I mean not in the classical sense. I did not study horiculture or permaculture in college. (Communication took up my time.) I did not spend years farming hundreds of acres of land on a mass scale (although I did spend eight years in Ellensburg - and dated a redneck. Does that count?)
But, what I did do as a child, was walk patiently out to my grandparents garden in Oregon each year and witness their enthusiasm over rows of raspberries, rhubarb, tomatoes and strawberries. My grandpa would always pull the closest, ripest fruit for me to try. Oh, the freshest flavor! And when I was only in diapers, my mom would find me in her own backyard garden eating pea pods right off the vine! Delicious!!
So, by default, I embraced gardening. Even before I really understood the satisfaction that comes from growing your own.
So grow little seedlings. Grow.
'Tis the season!