I have a secret.
I love vegetables and fruits and all things verdant, but I cannot grow them. I mean that quite literally. I have never been successful at maintaining a plant - each and every one ends up yellowed, browned, dried-out, or drowned with my futile attempts at love and water.
But yesterday, I went shopping for plants - lettuces and herbs. I may just be Charlie Brown, continually kicking the football of plant hope, but here I am again, striving to cultivate green things. There is hope in these seedlings, young things, stretching towards the light. I can't help but invest in the promise of the seeds, even though their failure to launch is an almost absolute.
Almost. See? I can't even believe with my whole heart that these seedlings will not turn in to full vegetables with some careful tending. And the end result, reaping the joy of healthy green energy from my window ledge garden, outweighed the memory of many past garden fiascos. My down-to-earth sensibility succumbed, sending me soaring for the potential of a soon-to-be-garden.
There is a good chance that I will be crushed when my lettuce wilts and my rosemary crumbles (again), but I will start with hope, and proceed accordingly.