a few springtimes ago, i got all excited about gardening. i was living in downtown chicago at the time with my sister where we shared a two bedroom flat on the third floor of a small apartment building above an even smaller health clinic. our 'back yard' was a tiny wooden deck with these rickety stairs that lead down to a fenced in concrete slab right off the alley. the pink line ran above ground in this part of town and was nearly level with our deck only a few yards off. the city's skyline was just beyond that, sparkling in the sun with lights that gleamed by night.
it was during this very urban period in my life that i decided to start growing my own food. as the ever ambitious person that i am, i picked out fifteen different seed packets from my local hardware store, began collecting large containers to do my growing in, and dreamed about the vast amounts of vegetables i would undoubtably encounter each time i stepped onto my back deck. my bathroom seemed the optimal place to begin growing my seeds in mid-march because the sun shone bright through my large window and it was usually humid from the regular hot showers. i filled my seed planter kit with potting soil and gently planted my fifteen different types of seed, creating holes with the eraser end of a pencil and labeling each section with a popsicle stick. in the weeks that followed i misted the soil using my spray bottle and searched for signs of growth, eager to see my hard work pay off.
i can't express the awe i felt at those first signs of life. every day seemed to bring something new. at first, the soil just looked disrupted, as though tiny ants were crawling around just underneath the top layer. then, something green... something ever so small it was hard to be sure it was really there. another misting and another evenings past and then again there was definitely something green sprouting from the ground. some of the vegetables started as straight and thin as a blade of grass while the tomatoes amongst others looked more like a seed or flower bud hoping to crack open and welcome the morning sun.
each day brought a new sight in that little planter. the sunflowers sprawled and tangled themselves amongst the other seedlings while the broccoli continued to grow taller and taller with their tiny leaflets bending toward the sunny window. i misted and pruned back some stalks each day. i removed the clear plastic lid to allow for minor temperature changes. i ran my hands over the plants, gently petting them to strengthen their stalks and thus prepare them for the hardy chicago winds. weeks past and soon the plants were deserving of larger pots. they were still unable to live outside overnight, but on a nice sunny day they could stand the elements for a few hours at a time. the sunflowers sprouted buds, the beans grew tall and spindly, the tomato stalks thickened and became fuzzy. but i wasn't experienced enough of a gardener for my ambitions. unfortunately, i started with too many seeds. in the space of one square inch, i had nearly twenty broccoli stalks all vying for dominance. i was too cautious to prune back the multitude of invaders; i was too impressed the volume of life that i refused to limit it and in turn the plants grew weak.
so i bought my produce from farmer's markets that summer, marveling at each vegetables size and unique attributes. rather than see my attempt as a complete failure, i have decided to use it as a learning exercise. growing fifteen different plants from seed on my chicago deck was probably out of my reach that summer. moreover, planting twenty seeds- however small they may seem- into a one inch by one inch plot of soil is recipe for disaster. i must learn to trust that within the tiny frame of just one seed lays the potential for hugeness and life and growth and fruit!
i did manage to grow a few of the sunflowers that year and focused my attention of tomatoes during the next. last year i succeeded in multiple tomato plants, some swiss chard, many varieties of peppers, cucumbers, an eggplant, and enough brussel sprouts to feed the neighborhood.
still, the growth of a tomato plant continues to baffle my mind. i can understand through practice that you buy a seed, plant it in rich soil with moisture and sunlight and wait for it to grow. eventually it will grow large enough to begin producing fruit until one day i find myself standing in front of the now shoulder high plant full of deep red, fleshy tomatoes thinking- how did this happen? a tomato seed is so small, it's shell impenetrable, it's shape ordinary. pass one laying on a table somewhere and you wouldn't even notice it's existence. but just think of the life that is packed into such a tiny seed; the promise of summer salads and canned marinara and quick snacks on the way out the door.
spring is approaching once again. gardens are being planned and soon seeds will be sown. i'll be growing tomatoes again this year, excitedly anticipating the whole process. i have a lot to learn from them. i find even just the act of sowing seed and cultivating growth is enough to teach me about myself, about my heart. it's shell is seemingly impenetrable, it's shape ordinary, but there is life and love and promise waiting within, seeking proper care and longing to grow.
