Romance & Clay
for Evan
Gardening does not save the earth or our family any
money, at least, not the way I do it. I’m not a seed saver,
a canner, or a homemade pickle maker. When I witness
a new sprout appear I am shocked and excessively happy.
Last year, I plucked the wrong leaves by mistake and ended
up growing an entire bed of weeds. You laughed, but oh,
the tomatoes. With just a pinch of Midwest magic, they
spring up everywhere I didn’t plant them, and I can’t bear
to thin them out. They will get too crowded, you warn me,
and you’re right. Every year, you’re right. I can barely reach
the bright, red plums in the middle, and too many fall to
the earth and rot without ever making it into the kitchen
or a recipe. By July, our yard looks like an untamed jungle,
but how can I pull up something with that kind of potential?
And so, I allow them to crowd out the dill and choke the
zinnias as the kids snack on them all summer long, with slick
seeds tangled in their hair, and pasta every week with garlic
and butter and slow-roasted cherries. I never lose the thrill
of walking out my back door, barefoot, to grab fresh herbs
for supper. Winter will be cold and brutal, with no canned
peaches to comfort us, but summer? Summer will be pesto
the flavor of sunshine. Is it really worth it? you ask, as I add
another scar to the collection on my knees, this time, from
a rusty metal stake the previous owners left behind and I
tripped over while harvesting my zucchini. Yes, I nod, as
blood runs down my leg. I can plant the garden this year,
hon, you offer with pity, noting how I struggle to bend
near enough to the ground to dig, a backache I picked up
from years of picking up our babies, but I shake my head,
No, I want to do it. I love it, I say, stubbornly. You see how
I need this, to be in the earth and recover from so many
months inside, so you drive to another town to pick up
dirt so I can top off the beds, and you pile it selflessly
into your old, blue truck. It is heavy mud now from the
rain. I don’t care what they say about date nights and
keeping the romance alive. Dirt, honey, is how you wooed
me today. Clay County clay on a hot, humid day, and I
will love you forever and make you spaghetti every day.
This is so, so lovely! Your rhythm and language are wonderful!
This is so, so beautiful!