For the majority of my life I have believed myself to be good at most
activities I put my hand to. Especially in my younger years I was right
most of the time. It was nice to be blessed with parents who generally
agreed with that sentiment and encouraged me to do and be anything I
wanted. I remember times that I felt invincible when it came to my
talents in certain areas especially.
As the years have passed and
life has "happened", this general
feeling-of-accomplishment-at-no-specific-task has faded. No longer do I
feel all I have to do is think about something and it is done, I am
finding things take substantially more effort than I am prepared to give
at any given moment. It remains to be seen whether this change is in me
or simply the nature of aging.
This is why I grow basil.
I
have spent many hours in the last few years contemplating gardening and
reading about the best ways to go about it. I have purchased seeds and
plants, pots and soil, all in hopes of achieving the elusive
"self-sufficiency" that so many speak of today. I genuinely like the
idea; it stirs a response in my soul. So much so that I have planted and
tended and killed many unsuspecting vegetables in recent history. It
has been said, and rightfully so, that my house is where plants go to
die. I do not allow them the dignity of a swift death though. I like to
drag it out, until they have nothing left to give and then finish them
off with a final, last ditch effort of over-watering in hope of
salvaging my reputation as a pioneer woman. There are huge numbers of
tomatoes, peppers and strawberries, countless types of herbs who have
passed through this life on a porch of mine. Many, many plants who have
spent their dying days drooping from a pot on a southern-facing slab of
concrete, forgotten in favor of another summer activity that is far more
glamorous.
All except basil.
You see,
basil and I have a love affair. It goes beyond the pesto sauce Rachael
Ray taught me how to make. Far past the rotisserie chicken that is never
the same when my dear friend has been left out of the mix. We have a
relationship; basil comes through for me. When all other plants are dead
and gone, when I've pushed it as far as it can go. Flaccid and
dehydrated it looks at me unashamed and dares me to water one last time.
And when I meet this smallest of needs, a single last hurrah to my
gardening ancestors, basil proves once again why we are so close.
Given
just a few minutes with this bit hydration and the sun it begins to
perk up. First the brightness starts to return to the leaves. Then they
begin to regain their rigidity and bounciness. Within a couple of hours
this angel-plant has begun a new life and in the process restored my
self-esteem. I am the master gardener I fancy myself to be. I can do
miracles, bring life where there was death. Basil has shown me a return to my formative days. Days in which everything I put my hand to turned to gold.
Now everything I put my hand to seems to turn to basil. Thank you my friend.
I L-O-V-E to garden and your reference here made me smile. You are going to have to teach me some gardening tips since you have became so good at it. I try so hard sometimes I think I hurt it more than help! I also learned a lot in your post, had no idea about the birthing of basil. Thanks for the pointers and congratulations on all the new found success! Keep up the good work.
ReplyDeleteI will be looking into growing a bit of Basil. Thank you for the inspiration. ~Ms. A.
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