Today the sun is shining, melting off the last of our most recent snowstorm. Daffodils, Texas Bluebonnets, Hyacinth and Tulips had already pushed their gloriously green shoots out of the dirt, weathered the storm, and continue to persevere towards blooming. The dirt in my garden beds is red clay and full of gravel, but with lots of supplemental dirt, compost, fertilizer, and pesticides I am coaxing a garden to slowly bloom.
After typing the above paragraph, I can feel my tightened muscles relaxing, my breathing is easier, and my furrowed brow smoothing. The prospect of cheery colors and rich scents of blossoms and herbs is relaxing and hopeful.
My part of town used to be the outskirts of the city, but it has been swallowed up by expansion. Neighborhoods of cramped, crowded houses with tobacco stained walls are hunched next to small communities that have large houses, sprawling yards and even a horse or two in the side yard.
Yes it is mainly just an excuse to justify my determination to continue the family tradition of gardening. My great-grandmother has her own little garden in the midst of inner-city Chicago. There's a grapevine that grows all along her side yard, and she has said her main purpose in growing it is for the neighborhood children to have something to snack on during the summer. She loves catching peeps of them through her windows as they 'steal' her gift to them.
I hope my garden someday will be that useful to