I push open the door (the one that confuses me every time as to whether it’s a push or a pull) and enter another world in a local garden center. Row after row of hope in the form of seed packets is there for browsing. It’s almost as satisfying as being in a bookstore (Sadly, even more so since, unbelievably, I stopped frequenting the book store regularly a couple of years ago when the world tilted on its axis.)
I’ve come prepared with a list I scribbled earlier after lifting my box of seeds from the shelf in the hall closet and taking a quick inventory of what I’m running low on. I’m going to buy more than I need, that’s a given, and I’ll be back multiple times before I finally declare my gardens planted. But this, the first visit of the season, is sweeter than anything I can imagine this afternoon.
I choose packets of Sparkler radishes, Peaches and Cream corn, a tri-colour bean blend, pretty Cimmaron leaf lettuce, and more to add to my already-extensive seed collection. In a few weeks, I’ll drag out seed starting mix and set up a workstation in the garage where I’ll drop tiny seeds in pots, and the garden season will officially begin. Now, it’s still dream time, the sweet season of expectation.
For a time I let go of concerns and allow my thoughts to light on gardens past and imagine gardens of the future. I feel kind of silly pulling out my phone to capture an image of one row of the seed display but do so anyway, quickly and not well thought through, but anticipating sharing the moment here with you later. The dark months have passed and winter is releasing her grip. We’re inching toward spring and if that isn’t cause for a simple silly celebration, I don’t know what is.