Aside from the ocean, another of my innate callings has to do with plants and gardening. While I love bouquets of fresh flowers (John, are you reading this? I have so many vases . . .), I'd rather add another potted plant (or 10 . . .) to my collection than flowers that will expire after a week or two. Although it's hard to get plants that have bright and vibrant blooms to live inside my apartment for very long, I have been trying my hand at orchids and every now and then get inspired to plant from seed to flower. In fact, I might try to grow some herbs out on my fire escape this spring. Whoever the last tenant was left a bunch of pots out on the fire escape and have just been growing weeds for the past two years. This apartment does have ample light, thank God, so I am able to keep some vegetation alive and well. This winter made my windowsills much colder than the past few years, so I've had to replace some of my plants now that it's warmer weather--and I hope to keep my new beauties lush and green! I don't know if it's some sort of OCD, but I found myself rearranging the plants I have this morning. It's amazing how moving a plant from one window to another can completely revive or completely kill it. They are so fickle sometimes!
A little red wagon, thread-bare wheels, rust rimmed, white lettered and very treasured was home to one of my first plant-ventures. This wagon became my tree-to-tree vehicle of choice. Being all of six or seven years old, I used to fill up sand buckets with water and mud and mix in all matter of flora and fauna (worms, beetles, spiders, etc.). I'd carefully collect very large leaves and drop in tiny buds from my Mother's garden beds before closing the leaf and tying it shut with blades of grass. I read every book I could get my hands on and became inspired by faeries and ancient mystics who would carry medicine bags and herbal remedies. I used twigs as my medical instruments and crushed the colors out of wild berries and brightly hued flowers. I moved that wagon around with me as I collected, sorted, pulverized, tore apart, bundled, and explored nature in fine detail. I lifted large rocks and captured the insects underneath. The larger beetles moved just a fraction, balking at the sudden burst of sun light into their dark earthy slumber. The tiny ants scattered in a million directions--going everywhere but back down into their ant hills. Sticky, slimy slugs continued their undulating path, leaving their translucent ooze behind them. In this manner, I got to know so much about what goes on not only above the ground with leaves and stems and flowers, but who the flowers share the ground with. They have to contend with all of these mini beasts, with whatever the weather throws at them, and with the curious fingers of a child trying to better grasp how the world works.
I got to explore many gardens in my childhood. My grandmother was another avid gardener, and once she took residence at Creek House (remember, the place I learned to love the ocean at?) I could come and help with her botanic endeavors. Even in the depths of winter, when I close my eyes I can still remember the colors and the warmth of freshly grown blackberries on my tongue--not to mention the juicy pops of flavor. We used to collect bowls of berries and scoop a spoon of sugar onto them. We'd place them in the fridge to consummate the heavenly marriage of fresh fruit and sweetness, and then eat the whole bowl in the glow of early evening at the picnic table overlooking the creek. From the table you could count all the crab apples dangling from the tree and falling down the hill toward the water. And if you ran around the house, past the outdoor oven and the rocky driveway, the glow of tomatoes shifting from green to red as they ripen on the vine would greet your eye. Every kitchen window sill in my home and my grandmother's was lined with tomatoes as they made their transition from good to great. When you buy jars of pickles in the store, or select a cucumber from a bin you completely miss out on the fact that these veggies come into the world covered in little bumps and prickles that scrape against your tongue if you eat them too early.
My memories of these spring and summer discoveries make my heart sick for the country-side, sometimes.
A couple of weeks ago, I traveled to the New York Botanical Garden with my Mom and my friend, Guadalupe. I've been to the garden twice before, and fall in love all over again as soon as I step foot inside. I take such pleasure in the simple things--grass, trees, squirrels-- I even saw a snake there on my first trip, and a rabbit happily hopping from clover patch to lush grass. Plus, there are the orchids. My God. I don't know how or why orchids are so beautiful. They are captivating. When you start to look deeply into the flower of an orchid, they start to look like little faeries popping off stems coming to greet you with their lovely scents and colors. Every color of the rainbow is represented in the orchid world. I was surprised to see a brown-colored orchid that reminded me of toasted honey and sesame seeds. Beauty all around, and the heady scent of the pansy orchids--truly, the orchid show is one of my heavens on earth.I will be a lover of gardens, plants, and nature for as long as I live. Being immersed in the splendor that is readily available out of the confines of the city is not something that I take lightly; I respect the delicate sensibilities of buds about to open, insects burrowing under rocks, and vegetables that need another week in the sun to be delicious. I'm ready to learn more about how plants work, what makes them happy, and how I can live harmoniously with them all around my apartment.
