People who say gardening isn’t a daring thing haven’t tried it. Not in its truest sense. Because growing a garden from seed is a risky endeavor. You can make all the plans, study planting dates, depth levels and watering needs. But nothing is promised in a garden. The power is never truly in your hands.
Unless you have stared at the soil, wishing it to show green, willing it to produce a stem, you don’t know garden hope. The kind of hope that dreams in emeralds and ferns and jades. Only if you have felt the dirt under your nails, counted the seeds into the ground, fretted over the birds and the squirrels...only then will you know what it is to hope that this thing, this tiny thing, will grow up strong from root to stem to bud.
Oh, and the joy. That feeling when the seed delivers on its maybe-I-will-maybe-I-won’t promise. The joy looks like leaves. Leaves of marigolds, forget-me-nots, poppies, morning glories. Of tomatoes, herbs, peppers, string beans.
It is June. That is the season of leaves. Wildflowers deliver early, and thanks to that fact, I have three (count em) bloomed flowers in my garden. But mostly, it is green everywhere. Nothing to see to the casual observer. That’s okay. I know what is there in all that green. And what will be there in July, when the big show begins. For now, it is enough for me. We have done the daring thing. We have risked that a seed will become something more and it has. What a tiny victory that is. What a miraculous one.