A few days ago I spent the afternoon with my friend Michelle and her adorable little son, and on our wanderings she bought me a beautiful petite white rose plant. I got it home and set it out on my window sill, and the tight buds unfurled into miniature flowers overnight. What a miracle! What a feeling! Suddenly, I was overcome with the overwhelming urge to plant something and watch it grow- blame it on the persistent ticking of my biological clock.
I've never been one for getting my hands dirty- with dirt, that is- but those of you who know my mother know that gardening has long been a passion for her. How many sweltering summer afternoons could I spot her floppy canvas hat out in the flowering beds in our backyard, down on her hands and knees, orange clogs on her feet and trowel in hand? And me, sitting inside where the central a/c kept me nice and cool, shaking my head and thinking she must be crazy. But I guess it's like they say, eventually we all turn into our mothers.
Being in a tiny NYC apt my gardening space is limited, but I have always wanted a window-box herb garden. I went to the Greenmarket and picked up some plants, then to the hardware store for a box and potting soil.
Chives, Oregano, Basil and Thyme
I drilled a few holes in the window box and attached it to the railing, then filled it with soil and planted my herbs. There I was- on my hands and knees, trowel in hand, sweat pouring down the sides of my face, and loving every minute. I pictured myself enjoying garlicy home-made pesto, and sprinkling chopped chives into cool cucumber salads, and spicing up fresh tomato sauce with oregano plucked from my garden.
And as I patted down the last of the dirt and stood back to take in my work, I felt a great calm come over me. I'm going to take good care of you, I promised my little ones. You're going to be very happy here...