Captain’s Log: Stardate 2001.7

In an attempt to make the sappy saying, “today is the first day of the rest of your life” cooler by turning it into a sci fi thing, I’m transitioning the CronaWatch title to stardates. Because right about now, being on any version of the Enterprise, even as a janitor cleaning out the Jefferies tubes, seems better than where I currently am. I also am not afraid to tell you I looked up how to calculate a stardate, cuz I want to keep it real. I know some of you won’t be able to resist clicking on this link to learn the magical logic behind it. Go for it my fellow nerds. I can’t take credit for the idea of using the stardate. That goes to a funny blogger I follow, Midlife Margaritas. Thanks, lady!

OK, so where were we? The whole point of this is to declare that I’m over Crona and am no longer counting the days of how we got into this. I am instead counting the days of us getting the hell out of this dark, bleak forest of masks, staring at the dust accumulating on home surfaces, and that sinking feeling of the less I do, the less I want to do.

For the record, I did hula hoop once this week, so I’m going to give myself a millennial-style award-for-participating for that.

It is getting to be gardening time, so I’m trying to focus on that. It makes me happy — at least early on when there is hope and possibility, and the little white fly infestations are last year’s distant, unpleasant memory. I just have to scrape together the energy required to don a mask and head out to the plant nursery to encounter who knows what. Car parking lines, limits of people shopping? Don’t get me wrong. I believe in all of this, it’s just my will and energy to encounter and deal with all the novelty have waned quite a bit. Drinking wine at home seems way easier. But the little plants need me, so I will put my big girl panties on and brave it. Next week.

So what’s on deck for my deck and yard? I got the happy message from my friend Becky that she will have a few tomato plants ready for me soon — coronavirus be damned. I successfully overwintered my pepper plant from last year. It was looking beautiful, about a foot tall, with lots of branches, green healthy leaves, and small white flowers. And so ahead of the season that I actually might get more than 3 peppers this year.

And then a fan fell on it, breaking all but one little branch. Specifically, I accidentally pushed the fan off a shelf onto the pepper plant while I was trying to open a window behind the fan. I wanted to cry, mostly because how much does it suck to have survived the winter only to get crushed by a stupid fan? I’m hoping nature is stronger than my clumsiness.

I started basil, parsley, and cilantro inside this winter as a experiment to bring a little green in the house. The basil and parsley made it out alive so those will get transplanted soon. They are on the top shelf so I think they are safe, although let’s face it. Living with me seems to be like living with a ticking time bomb. Send your thoughts and prayers for them.

The piece de resistance is that the sweet potato plants came in the mail.

sweetpotatoslips

If you’ve been following me, you may remember my stealthy guerrilla gardening last year, where I randomly planted the extra sweet potato plants in public places. It didn’t end well, but I’m nothing if not delusionally optimistic when it comes to gardening. This year, I have to give crona credit for at least one thing. It made me take a long walk where I usually wouldn’t because I was trying to avoid the urban COVID “walk and dodge.” The experts say to make sure we’re taking care of our mental health by going out for a walk. Maybe it’s just me, but putting on a mask to go out for a walk and then have to keep crossing the street or waiting on the side while other people go by is mostly less than relaxing. See my note above about sitting inside and drinking wine.

Anywho, while I was out on my walk and dodge, I came upon a community garden I hadn’t ever walked that close to before. I had been thinking about my guerrilla sweet potato plants, so I slowed down, and eyed it covetously.

I walked around the edge and saw it. The most amazing thing for a guerrilla gardener: a cultivated, yet slightly neglected garden bed outside of the fence. And safe from the mower. I give you exhibit A:

secretgarden1

And towards the dead end where no one but the gardeners would venture, there a few open spaces.

secretgarden2

And finally I took it as a good sign that there were tons of onions in this community garden. My grandfather grew them, and many years ago I got sets from him that I could plant. At the time I lived in an apartment with no yard so they didn’t really take to the pots. But we did plant some next to his and my grandmother’s grave and there were some crazy tops growing before the mower got them. These in the garden were soft echos of those long ago onions.

onions

So, stay tuned for more guerrilla gardening and more stardates. We can and will go boldly where we haven’t gone before. Captain’s orders.

 

 

 

 

 

8 Comments

  1. “that sinking feeling of the less I do, the less I want to do” — you just nailed how I’ve been feeling! Although I think I’m doing better than I was when all this started. At least that’s what I’m telling myself!

    1. That’s our story and we’re sticking to it! Think that’s what we need to keeping saying. And I think it’s true—we know a little more about a ourselves than we did a few months ago.

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