Gardening. Finally.

Since the beginning of summer I have wanted to learn to garden. For the first time since living with my parents, I have an actual yard. During the winter, as I imagined myself laying in the summer shade of our backyard, I decided I would begin a garden when school was through. But when the semester ended other projects took precedent--projects that come more naturally to me--and the weeks rolled by. Eventually, I figured it would have to wait until next year.

Then last week I got this very random call from my bank saying that I won (in a drawing I didn't enter) a gift basket full of gardening supplies. My first thought was how lame it is to get a gift that is so inapplicable to my life...like, why can't they just give me better interest rates? But then I decided to think of it as a sign. Its not that I really believe it's anything more than a coincidence, but sometimes it helps my brain and my spirit to think of things that way. Now, I wouldn't even have to go to the trouble of going shopping for supplies: they were all just handed to me in a little tote bag embroidered with sunflowers. "But still," I thought, "it's so late in the season. Maybe I should just give it to someone who would appreciate it more."

Then this weekend Eric and I drove to Pennsylvania with his brother and our sister-and-law for a wedding. The favors at the wedding were little hearts made of that pulpy paper with embedded seeds that promises to grow flowers if planted in the ground. It seems that I am further being coaxed: this is how easy it will be. Just put this heart in the ground.

The following day we got up early to meet our friends in a little neighborhood in Pittsburg where they own and operate a charming corner coffee shop. It happens to be located across the street from a beautiful, dense plot of wildflowers that was planted a couple of years ago, replacing what was a vacant gas station. As we spent the morning catching up, conversation turned to the plot in an urban garden that they have been developing over the last couple of years. We decide to wander down the street to take a look. Each plot, separated by brick paths or wooden stakes, revealed the owners personality and maybe something of their summer story; some were organized by color, some neatly weeded and set in rows, and others overgrown with the most hardy plant of their plot: squash, calendula, raspberries, or lemon mint.

We tasted a handful of raspberries and some fresh green beans off the plants. As we were beginning to say our goodbyes and getting ready to leave, our friends gave us a nearly foot-long, thick zuccini, which rested like an infant between Eric and I in the back seat of the Ford Focus as we rode home to Detroit. I decided I want vegetable babies of my own. I am officially inspired.