If I were on the (old school) Enterprise, the last couple of weeks would have been like being attacked by the Klingons, darting in and out with their cloaking device, while also having all those quarrelsome ambassadors aboard like in that episode, “Journey to Babel.” Oh, and no distracting sexy aliens to chat up in sight. The world is falling apart, as it has done many times before and will do so again long after we exist only as electronic impulses on some forgotten server in a university labeled “Social media internet archives.”
So what’s a girl with the COVID and life vapors to do?
Focus on the only thing you can count on, nature, or more specifically, guerrilla gardening.
As you may recall, I had scoped out a few likely places to plant some sweet potatoes, next to a community garden on the outside of the fence. On another walk and dodge, I discovered 3 small raised beds next to a high school near my house. There were a few tomato plants in them a few summers ago, which must have been a school project left on its own after school ended. With schools closing so early, there wasn’t even a chance to plant anything. Perfect for guerrilla gardening.
The aforementioned Klingons and ambassadors have prevented me from planting, but the plants have been happily rooting like crazy in water in my sunny window. Poor dears had no idea what was coming. This weekend, it was time, perhaps as healing for my heart and the way having to wear a mask everywhere in the city constantly reminds me we’re not out of this yet and brings a steady unfamiliar anxiety. I headed out before some predicted thunder storms with 8 plants, a trowel, water, and gardening gloves, of course to avoid leaving fingerprints.
I dug out 2 beds, and left each with an original plant already struggling–daisies in one and rosemary in the other. Even half dried and desperate for water, the rosemary gave off a calming scent.
Here they are: bed #1.
I only brought 1/2 gallon of water with me and the dirt was so dry it mostly ran off the plants. But a hard rain fell a couple of hours later, so I’m hoping they got a good soaking, but they may have also gotten pummeled a bit before they were ready. I know the feeling. I’ve read that sweet potatoes thrive in poor soil, so with a little watering help from me, these babies should have it made. And like me, maybe all they need is some space, sun, and a small helping hand.