Gardening and parenthood are very similar. You have the best of intentions for the seeds you plant; you feed them, nurture them, make sure they’re not hanging around bad influences (like weeds and pests), support them, and do everything you can to ensure that they grow up healthy and strong. But, in the end, you really have no control over how they grow and how productive they are. I was thinking about this during the week as I checked on the seedlings I planted a few weeks ago.
While quite a few of the seedlings are stoked to be in soil, others are having a rough go of it. I lost a few cucumber transplants (I guess they don’t like to be transplanted; however, a few of the seedlings are thriving) and my garlic (which I had put in starter pots) is pretty much dead. The spinach started out unhappy, but seems to have adjusted, and I even have a few little spinach sprouts that have surfaced. The strawberries, borage, sunflowers, radishes, onions and lettuce are growing like gangbusters. Even the strawberry plant that my husband uncovered when mowing the lawn (the grass was taller than our toddler), is fruiting like crazy.
So far one of the best parts of moving to a new home is discovering what the previous owners had planted. The previous owners really liked roses, since there are tons of them everywhere, most of which are desperate for a serious trimming. While I was trying to plot where to plant my two fruit trees, a tree in the middle of the courtyard caught my attention. Yellow clusters of flowers hang from the branches, and sway ever so gently in the breeze. It smells heavenly—even my son giggles when I hold him up to smell it (though he may be giggling at the sniffing sound I make when I’m showing him how to smell the flowers). I have no idea what it is. It smells a bit like the honeysuckle scent that Bath & Body Works used to sell in the 90s. The adventure is in trying to figure out what it is.