I try to take a walk through the property daily. Doesn't always happen, mind you, but I try. I really don't know how else to get myself in the habit of paying attention and so far it's helping me not kill things. It helps that Mark is focused on the seeds and doing his part, but well, he travels for work sometimes and that makes it my job to focus, something I'm not always so good at.
I carry my phone with me, set on camera mode and ready to capture what I can. I'm also using a garden tracking program called Folia which allows me to note down milestones and will then give me a timeline as to when I should expect sprouts or should aim to transplant or fruit may appear. I'll be thrilled when they finally have an Android App so I can update from the field.
It amazes me how ignorant I can be about plants, though.
"Look!" I'll show Lorien, "The pumpkin is sprouting!"
"That's not a pumpkin sprout." She'll reply.
"But that's what the package said." I insist, as though good hard observation cannot possibly win over a seed package.
"Maybe it will still sprout, but that is something in the brassica family." She calmly insists.
"But I want it to be a pumpkin." I pout.
She all but pats me on my sweet stupid head.
I know I can learn, it just seems remarkably slow to sink in. But for now, I think everything is beautiful, even the clumps of nasty aphids I found clustered on a weed stalk in the canyon, or the creeping vine that keeps tying to take over everything.
OK so the aphids are gross, but there's a beauty to them too, all huddled together, just trying to survive in the wilds. And the way the vine wraps around the dead stalk of a tree it probably killed?
Poetry, I swear.
This is why I need to live in community: ignorance, I have it in spades.