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Planting, fathering, plant empathy
Mar. 28th, 2009 01:35 pmI'm experiencing a type of paternal love right now with a number of small plants I've seeded.
A while ago – just before the news about the White House's vegetable garden hit all the news networks, actually – my roommates and I decided to start a collection of herbs from seed in peat pots, potting mix and whatever plastic containers (from salad, store-bought mushrooms, take out, whatever) we had lying around. We've started some oregano, basil, sugar snap peas, chives, parsley, and summer squash which now live on our kitchen table by the window, waiting for the danger of frost to pass so they can be transplanted outside. It was about ten days ago we potted the first batch, and we've been adding to our collection periodically, including some pots which had held dead seeds which I've just re-seeded today.
And since then, small green shoots have been coming up. It was just a few days ago that the basil and oregano started showing; the sweet peas began soon after that and quickly outstripped either of them in growth and size. Just today, a few tiny shoots of chives began pushing their way from the soil, and as I stood there watching them...
There's not all that much for the gardener to do, really, not in this stage – just put the seeds in the soil, water them, make sure they get their sun, and wait. The burden of bearing them falls on the earth and the burden of growing falls on the seeds and shoots, and yet watching the firm young stalks of the peas and the bright sprays of oregano, I was seized with a feeling of pride and love I've rarely experienced in looking at human children, even in empathy. Possibly it's ridiculous, but I imagine that fathering is similarly so. After all, the biological role of a father is minimal.
And yet, there's a love that wells up out of all proportion to facts of mere biology. And odd as it is, cross-Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Genus, Species, I'm revelling in these little growing things that are pushing away the soil to take their first vulnerable gasps of air. I love them; I want to nourish them, to protect them, and though plants don't often show visible change if you simply sit and watch, I've been standing over them, watching, for quite some time.
A while ago – just before the news about the White House's vegetable garden hit all the news networks, actually – my roommates and I decided to start a collection of herbs from seed in peat pots, potting mix and whatever plastic containers (from salad, store-bought mushrooms, take out, whatever) we had lying around. We've started some oregano, basil, sugar snap peas, chives, parsley, and summer squash which now live on our kitchen table by the window, waiting for the danger of frost to pass so they can be transplanted outside. It was about ten days ago we potted the first batch, and we've been adding to our collection periodically, including some pots which had held dead seeds which I've just re-seeded today.
And since then, small green shoots have been coming up. It was just a few days ago that the basil and oregano started showing; the sweet peas began soon after that and quickly outstripped either of them in growth and size. Just today, a few tiny shoots of chives began pushing their way from the soil, and as I stood there watching them...
There's not all that much for the gardener to do, really, not in this stage – just put the seeds in the soil, water them, make sure they get their sun, and wait. The burden of bearing them falls on the earth and the burden of growing falls on the seeds and shoots, and yet watching the firm young stalks of the peas and the bright sprays of oregano, I was seized with a feeling of pride and love I've rarely experienced in looking at human children, even in empathy. Possibly it's ridiculous, but I imagine that fathering is similarly so. After all, the biological role of a father is minimal.
And yet, there's a love that wells up out of all proportion to facts of mere biology. And odd as it is, cross-Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Genus, Species, I'm revelling in these little growing things that are pushing away the soil to take their first vulnerable gasps of air. I love them; I want to nourish them, to protect them, and though plants don't often show visible change if you simply sit and watch, I've been standing over them, watching, for quite some time.
