Elaine Soloway's Caregiving Series: Green Thumb
It’s 6:30 in the morning and I’m at the breakfast table reading the newspaper when my eyes veer from the print to catch the sunlight streaming in the window. Tommy, who is asleep upstairs, has raised the blinds to make room for seedlings he placed on the sill.
I leave my chair to read the tiny sticks stuck in the dirt. There are three Tomato Super Marzanos, two Habanero Hot Peppers, one Cayenne Long Slim Hot Pepper, one Super Chili Hot Pepper, two California Wonder Bell Peppers, and one Cucumber Pickling.
It was yesterday when my husband sped through the aisles of the garden center with me, and a green-uniformed salesman, following after. “Tomatoes,” I called out behind me. “This way,” the man said, and reversed our directions until we ended up in the proper row. And so it went with the rest of the plants now on the sill.
Tommy has had a green thumb as long as I’ve known him. When we first met in 1996, he was living on the second floor of a friend’s two-flat with a back yard and a garden. But because he worked a full-time job, he never had time to till that soil, plant, or reap.
When we married in January of 1998, outdoor gardening was out, so my new husband started with indoor plant maintenance.
“These need watering,” he said as he inspected my sorry potted plants. Moving along the dieffenbachia, schefflera, palm, and lily, he dug fingers deep into the soil and shook his head. He went to the kitchen, filled a pitcher with water, and after dousing, asked for a rag to dust leaves. My plants perked up. I was grateful to have a custodian assume a role not in my DNA.
As soon as we moved into this house, with its big yard surrounded by fencing, Tommy surveyed his land and staked out plots for a vegetable garden. When Burpee catalogs arrived in the mail, I’d hand them over. He’d grab them as if they were letters from a long-lost relative.
Every day my husband would tend his garden. I’d watch as he inspected, watered, fertilized, and pampered. “Looking good!” I’d call out. He’d turn to my voice, wave a spade, and grin, “Not too long now,” he’d say.
I’m not sure who was sunnier in those scenes. Me, witnessing my husband revel in a simple hobby long awaited? Or Tommy, blooming into a proud landowner?
When his crop yielded vegetables to rival a farmstand’s, he’d place a half dozen ripe tomatoes and several hot peppers in a plastic bag. “These are for the boys,” he’d say, referring to his golfing buddies who savored his garden’s output.
Pages: 1 · 2
- Three By Ferida Wolff: Rose Hips and Acadia, Hibiscus Potential and Coneflower/Echinacea
- Elaine Soloway's Widow Series: The Opposite of Caregiving & The Takeover
- Rising Mortality Rates in Women in the United States: "Today, we still have to fight for equal access, equal rights, and even equal health"
- Two From Ferida Wolff's Backyard: Blueberry Picking is Tasty Work! & The Greatness of Lake Erie
- Ferida Wolff's Backyard: The Lilac Presence, Blackberries and Raspberries and Useful Screening
- Elaine's Soloway's Caregiving Series: An Untroubled Brow
- Ferida Wolff's Backyard: Winter is Getting Warmer - Really & The Beauty of the Unexpected
- Elaine Soloway's Caregiving Series: How To Suction A Tracheotomy
- Ferida Wolff's Backyard: Ghost Cat and Brrr — It's Cold Outside
- Elaine Soloway's Caregiving Series: Better Late Than Never
No feedback yet