Inspired by Wife Mother Expletiving, I gave up writing the blog for the month of June.
I wanted to give writing on paper a try.
I cracked the spine of a 5-year-old journal, but I only got as far as writing one sentence, maybe 2. Perhaps, I thought, I need a break from writing altogether. I posted a few photos because I just could not resist, but I did not write.
I turned instead to the garden. The lush, overgrown patch of grass, mud and decrepit perennials that I have ignored for several years. I will let you , kind reader, fill in all the metaphorical blanks.
One day we ate outside and then we ate outside again and again. Then the kids set up a fun fair in the back yard and so it began, an almost daily ritual of being in the back yard. The back door stood open, the bees and the hornets ran riot. We ate and played and I spread manure around. I planted three tiny herb plants and a tomato plant. Their tiny green shoots went into salads and adorned plates. I had rescued a neighbourhood rhubarb plant last year and it got re-planted in one of the two empty beds.
I started to wake up in the morning picturing those tiny green fellows waist high in dark black soil. With each rainfall, I'd visualize the nutrients dripping drop by healthy dollop down into the veins of the plant.
I would feel tired after work and resist going out there, but then I would, and within minutes, I had that satisfying burn of physical labour that typing emails and blogging rarely produces.
I nurtured real live plants and not just pictures of them for a whole month. I spent time with my kids without thinking once about what it all means or excavating my experiences. I still took a lot of photographs, but being physical outside for a period each day renewed my devotion to nurturing living things.
There are so many metaphors I could use I suppose. But growing food in a once neglected back yard is the best one I've got.
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