My clever garden bed, only half full of soil, yet bursting with volunteer squash randomly, sits neglected in the yard. Nearby, two large bags of soil sit, intended to fill in the gaps. But then there was immobility, and all the seedlings cried out for my love. The weather was fierce and unforgiving as they waited for my return. Some did not make it through those dark times. I tried to give them attention when I could, hobbling around the yard with cane in one hand and hose in the other. Kneeling to replant them into the bed seemed such a daunting task. And now, now that I am feeling more up to the task, my attention is drawn to the task of moving to town. And so my bed calls out for me whenever I am nearby. I hear it's desperate pleading, a quiet voice saying "I'm still here." and "You know you need me as much as I need you." I think to myself "Or maybe I need you more..."
I can only hang my head in shame. I do not know what to say to them, my precious plants. We are moving and I don't know what sort of attention to give you. I want so much to kneel down, feel the earth between my fingers and transplant the choking seedlings where they can really stretch their roots and thrive. It pains me to see them twisted and suffocating in their plastic nurseries. This house hunting and moving must move quickly. So many little lives call out to me for love. My heart yearns to touch the earth and help things grow, harvest the food that will feed my family. If I can't feed hearts and tummies, why do I torture these little greens?