So, here’s the truth. I love being domestic. I know it’s not very cool or anything that could be rated a “hot topic” of discussion, but it is a true thing about me. I love cleaning (so.much.more.than.a.normal.person, you guys), baking, cooking, planting, painting, decorating… the list goes on. Spring always inspires renewal in pretty much everyone, so I’m no exception. After winter is over and everyone begins to emerge from their weather-imposed shut-ins, I get the desire to start running again, to get my hands in the dirt, to declutter and go garage saleing (maybe that’s not a real word but whatevs).
Speaking of dirt, this year we’re going to have an epic garden. It’s pretty much the only thing I can think about right now. The weather here is getting great (in between intermittent surprises of 40 degree weather), spring has sprung (and all that) so my sole focus has shifted to all things outside. The fella in my life inherited a pretty awesome green thumb and he’s a master starting things from seed. And in true underpreparedness, EVERYTHING we planted has decided to grow. Everything. The basement is overrun with little seedlings that can’t wait to meet the sun. They already had to be transplanted to red solo cups which are scattered a bit of here, there and everywhere in an effort to keep the cats from eating them.
If there’s anything I’ve learned from my modest gardening experience, it’s that planting things in the Earth is unpredictable and it truly is a combination of blood, sweat and tears. If all these seedlings die after we transplant them, I’m going to be super upset. In the meantime, we’ll wait for the ground to be ready, we’ll plan for sunny days ahead, we’ll dig into the Earth the way people have been doing for generations and we’ll begin the labor of love that is growing our own food.