March, or whatever...

What do you do when you reeeally feel like writing but have nothing to write about??
We're about to see. Because that is the case.

My life has been like a handful of confetti for the last while, bits and pieces, flung...twirling, falling. The aftermath isn't especially tidy. Or noteworthy. Or sensible.

It's March now.

I wish for Spring one day. I wish for snow the next. Or even both the same instant. I think mostly I just wish for something besides sullen skies and drizmal. And coldness.

But I did plan The Garden of My Dreams. That was fun and not dependent at all on happy weather. You should see it, my dream garden.
I'd like to see it myself, actually. But I won't, I suppose.
The garden that comes to pass seldom bears overmuch resemblance to The Garden of my Dreams.

This takes none of the pleasure away from the dream, however. None.

The Chief ordered the seeds. He and a couple of the natives refurbished my little greenhouse. Last week I filled the first flats with potting soil and tucked in the first batch of seeds. Tomatoes and peppers of various varieties. Over 160 seeds in all. And some herbs.
A day or so later I planted more things, cone flowers, daisies, impatiens, coleus, caladium bulbs....more herbs...

A couple days later, eggplant, and okra and and I forget what all...and more herbs....

And the Chief said, "You planted the okra? We usually just plant that in the garden." Oh yes. I forgot.
I ran out of pots, so I bought more.

And planted more.

The Chief came home the next day and said, "Did you plant anything today?" And I said, "No, I ran out of pots again."

So now I am in the waiting stage. Waiting for more pots. But especially waiting for the first glad seedling sighting.

Truth be told there is nothing much gladder in the whole world than the first seedling sighting. Not for me. Every morning I take my rooster mug and fill it with steaming coffee and go check on my flats. I check the soil to see if it needs watering. And then I peer at the soil. And peer at the soil.

And peer at the soil.

This is more fun than you would believe. This is my absolute favorite hobby.

One day, I will see a miniature translucent palish arch emerging from the soil somewhere...out of all those hundreds of tiny pots. Because that's the first thing you see...and then that afternoon maybe, or the next day, one side of the arch will break free from the soil and there it will be! A little white stem topped by two baby leaves. A seedling!! And then there will be another one... and ten more...and dozens!!! It's entirely thrilling!

 I check them every morning, while I husp my coffee, and count them to see if there are more than last time. I look at them all carefully, note their progress, and try to discern if I'm killing them yet or not.
When I'm all through, I look at them one more time. And wish I had planted more so I would have more to look at.

Then I step out of the balmy earthiness of my little greenhouse, close the door behind me, and cradling my empty rooster mug, brace myself against the harsher realities of March.

So this is one fragment from the handful of confetti. And one, I believe, is enough.