Tomorrow I will.

I left the dinner table before anyone else.  On tip toes I walked, trying to keep my departure a secret even though I could feel all eyes from around the table on me.  In a deep visceral way I needed space.  For a small amount of time I needed to just be me - not a wife and not a mother.  Just me.

I slipped on my crusty gardening gloves and dug around in my bag...which tool do I need? which job should I do?  The first thing that came to mind was the long row of lavender, not the lavender but the weeds that are taking over the row.  I pause, then move toward the weeding tool.  I stop.

 sage and thyme

I plant basil in a terra cotta pot, weathered with a lovely white-ish patina.  No where in my memory can I recall where or when I got this pot, this beautiful pot.  I decide that I will go back to the nursery tomorrow and buy the foxglove and delphinium that I admired last weekend and haven't stopped thinking about.

I scan the lavender bed in my mind again.  I stop.

I unwind the garden hose.  I've already watered today but I feel I must tend to the herbs and flowers and plants I've recently added to my garden again.  My mind is full, my heart is heavy.  As the shower of water streams over the plants I think about each unkind, unfair thought I'm having and will them away.  After all, they are merely drops that can and will fade over time.

I can see that bed of weeds in my mind again, and I shoo it away like I would a pesky fly.

garden strawberries, ripe or not, always loved

I decide in this moment to throw myself a lifeline.  Tending, nurturing, taking extra good care is all that matters right now.

lemon-parsley soap - i'm working on making some

Tomorrow I will weed that pesky bed.


  1. The summer before M was born, I planted and grew tomatoes in a neglected, falling apart garden planter at our rental. By the end of the summer, when the tomatoes were ripe and beautiful and plentiful, I couldn't eat a single one because of morning sickness. Nobody took care of the garden or the tomatoes, and eventually, the whole mess of literally bursting-open tomatoes and weeds was covered in snow.

    The next spring, between a newborn and three year old, the most I could manage was to pull out the old tomato plant and stick it in the compost. I left the weeds there.

    But by the end of that summer - just before we moved - the whole planter was bursting with new tomatoes. Those tomatoes had just gone ahead and seeded themselves and grown right around those weeds, without my help, without the help of a tomato ladder, and without watering. And they re-presented themselves to me in the same beautiful, plentiful, delicious form from the previous summer.

    (This time, I ate them all.)

    You are an awesome mother, Katie.

    1. I love everything about that story. :)

    2. What a great allegory of life that is! Thanks for sharing it. Times and seasons.

  2. this is beautiful - I love your words, and how you intertwine your gardening with your life and current circumstances. we have many tools in our toolboxes, really all we need. thanks for sharing how you're tending to those rows. Lemon-parsley soap sounds divine. happy day to you.

  3. everyone needs their own time, even mothers, and especially those with something heavy in their hearts.

    weeding meditation is a great release.

    hope you found a bit of peace.