The hope, obviously, is they will sprout and I can plant them in the garden when the time comes. Since that's a good two months away, at least, they should be ready to go, I hope.
The spinach of course can maybe go out earlier, and the jury is still out on the lettuce seeds I planted during one of the thaws.
Lots of hope in that there introduction. But that is the point of the season. We hope things will grow that we plant. We hope we are able to do all the things we've dreamed about doing this winter. Heck, the way this winter has gone, we just hope it does end, and these few days above 40 degrees aren't just teasers.
But inside needs to be attended to as well. Jim and I are participating in something called "40 Bags in 40 Days." It's a Lent-inspired thing, where instead of giving up chocolate or Facebook, people are encouraged to fill one trashbag per day. We could certainly use the decluttering, that's for sure. We are starting indoors, the basement and the loft. So far, despite get a late start, we've filled seven trashbags. After we are done in here, it will hopefully be more securely warm enough to work in the backyard. Under the deck and in the shed definitely need attention, and then there's the infamous garage.
The other day, Janet was talking about growing up. If they didn't raise their own vegetables, she said, they would have starved. We talked a bit about how people don't do that anymore. I told her we're trying, and every year we get a little bit better. She talked about the garden she used to have when she and Jim's dad were first married, and how her dad and mom knew all sorts of stuff. I could tell she was melancholy; she said "We had a good life." I told her she did. I haven't quite gotten the whole story memorized yet, but I'm getting there. She tends to forget she's told me all that before, but it's not like I mind hearing it again.
We talked about what we wanted to plant and how to maybe get the potatoes to turn out better. She once again said she'd help me, and that she liked to do that stuff. I reflected back on her amazing ability to be scarce when I was going to go out and do something and smiled to myself, but I still told her that I would really like that. It's not a lie, after all.
Hope. Hope that she'll still be able to to help (as she wants) when the spring comes. Hope that her disease has somehow been misdiagnosed and she's doing just fine, after all. Hope that we have zucchini and squash to sit down to on a warm summer evening on the deck, with homemade pickles from our cucumbers.
It's all about the hope.
