Based on true gardening events!
Almost a year ago Hope was planted in the garden. Hope came in a bag of maybe 20 or 30 more equal sized seeds of Hopes. I imagine somewhere the place where Hope is growin in megasized amounts, truck loads, train loads, one after another, from somewhere not far but maybe not close. Hope grows.
Yes, Hope was gently pushed (squiggly side down) into our soft garden dirt, a small bit of fertiizer, in proximity of more Hopes down the row. Hope was quiet for weeks, drawing energy? water? ideas? from the soil. Hope first appeared as a single bright great sprig, reaching for the sky. Hello, Hope.
Hope then literally grew, taller, with more sprouts. By mid summer, Hope’s stems arced magnificently upward, 2-3 feet high. Some of Hope’s neighbors boldly grew large white flowers (perhaps that was the showy green onions). Hope might have felt this would go on forever, right? The warmth, the regular (if I remember enough) watering. Hope was in the element.
Yet with the temperatures cooling s bit in late August, Hope was looking tired, the shoots went loose, limp, falling to the ground. Many turned brown. What was going on, Hope?
In October we harvested the garden, all the onions laid out on pallets to dry and toughen their skin, Hopes prepared for the winter months, the shoots completely fallen off. Bags of Hope, some larger than a softball, others in the golf ball range, went in the basement in canvas bags.
Hope fed us through autumn, winter, and into spring, the last one cooked just a week ago. Indeed, as a metaphor goes, Hope was in fact not a solid thing, but layered, right? Sometimes dense in the core. But always, Hope could be peeled as well sliced, diced, grilled, Hope flavored soups. Hope went into tacos, it frolicked with garlic on pizza.
Hope’s aroma was intense, one could smell it from the other room. Absolutely many tears flew when taking a knife to Hope. There are many kinds of tears, the ones from Hope intense as life should be, honoring all it took for become this huge ball of Hope on a cutting board.
Hope gives itself, asking nothing in return.
But oh the flavor of home grown Hope is beyond description, it fills the senses, it makes store bought Hope taste like cardboard.
In cleaning the garden for a new planting, a surprise was revealed.
Multiple times.
Hope was still there in the ground! More than one Hope.
Hope got left behind, forgotten, enduring a Canadian winter below the ground with temperatures pushing -40º.
Yet Hope held strong. Hope just waited to be found, touched. Hope provided yet more meals.
And this year, the cycle starts again. Hope is getting planted, right now.
Feature Image: Finding, holding, reveling in Hope. Onion as Hope flickr photo by cogdogblog shared into the public domain using Creative Commons Public Domain Dedication (CC0)
