Today was one of those days where I felt like my brain had been dipped in glue. Nothing, but NOTHING seemed to come out quickly today. I forgot my clipboard with my shopping list at home, I couldn't think of the name of the high pitched guy that sang "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" (Mom said Tiny Tim). Long story, trying to describe a person to her while we were in a store... So, I won't bore you with my day, which consisted mostly of sneezing, yawning, and trying not to forget anything I needed to do...
Enjoy my reverb question, instead.
Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year? (Jeff Davis)
I could be a smart (ahem), and say that I am always wondering. Or that I am a wonder. Or that it's a wonder that I do as well as I do. That, as one of my more pyschologically bent friends says, is deflecting the question. Which I think I am.
I am not entirely sure that I did cultivate wonder. Wonder... Wonder. Nope, no wonder.
Tomatoes. Now THAT was something I cultivated. I planted this dorky little seed, about the size and shape of a freckle, into a peat pot. The magic fluffing peat pot, juuust add water! Securing the little seed in a greenhouse, and watching it grow as a tiny stem with a bump, then these tiny, fragile little fairy wing leaves form, spreading out, reaching up. Reaching for light, and air, and water.
Then the growing. Nothing for the longest time. For those impatient (cough), the death of a thousand too many minutes, while it fosters up energy and strength to leap up and grow out frond-like leaves, opening wide and stretching to cover as much of the world as its tiny little self can stretch out to.
Then... A yellow bit of sunshine! A blossom. Then another! Soon, I open the greenhouse, to gossamer winged insects, mason bees, butterflies, moths, bugs of various and sundry stripe. A pleasant drone from the plants, as happy bugs find sustenance.
Then finally, planting out. Small things, pathetic, really, this tiny thing is going to give me tomatoes? The start of a greenish orb, no bigger than a marble. Huh. I put a cage around the plant, in hopes of the future.
Then comes sun, summer, and watering. That, and Earth's fine soil, and I suddenly see what seems to have taken several months of effort turn into what seems like change in an instant. A sudden shooting up a foot, even two, straining the cage, and putting on a show of reds, yellows, and greens, that would put itself well shown against any parade.
I gather the huge orbs, some big as my hand, others a dainty bell of yellow. Others a wild green. One seed, and I gather pounds of fruit. I share with family, I share with neighbors. I share with Rudee. Involuntarily, I share with deer. There is still more! And MORE! And good sakes, more after that!
Then, with the start of frost, I see them die back. Fat fruits, hidden by leaves, and missed by a certain gardener, become chicken food. Plants are removed, where the chickens, and llamas can nibble at leisure. Friends and family look longingly at the garden, and comment on the lush plants, and taste of summer, gone away for another season.
Nope. No wonder. Just tomatoes.