I photographed the petunias in the garden today but I don’t have any petunia stories except that my mother used to plant them in the raised beds my father built for her in Virginia. Beds maybe 1′ or 2′ by 4′ or 5′. Nothing fancy. Plants purchased from the farmers market in downtown Lynchburg. Straightforward colors of red, purple and white come to mind. Although I do remember in later years when I returned home after college the selections had expanded and there were striped and maybe spotted petunias in the beds. As a child, in the early evening hours when the sun (and therefore heat) was low, I remember my mom and I would go out and pick the dead flowers to encourage new growth. It came across as something calming for my mother. My dad’s domain was the vegetable garden. The flowers were my mother’s and I think she cherished it.
Even after I moved from home I often managed to garden though I was not drawn to petunias. I have a growing fondness for them and an appreciation of how they fill in a container and complement other plants. As a child I didn’t appreciate them at all except as an opportunity to stick my hands in the dirt to help plant them and an opportunity to hang out with my mom as she took care of them. I was completely clueless as she included me in this process of caretaking and nurturing. I’m still not great at it with petunias. I try to find new varieties that need no deadheading. I seek out colors that complement the “main” plants I have growing in a container. And yet as seasons continue to pass I find myself planting more of those things from my childhood that I took for granted like petunias, scarlet sage and sweet william. Spring is near done and summer approaches. We’ll see what growing opportunities, prompted by the past or by the current moment, present themselves.
We used squid as the tasty lure. Once the hook had been baited, Steve taught me how to cast (last time the fellow did it for me). As I stood at the rail holding the rod, I was aware of the looks we received from the neighboring fishermen. As you can see I am still not quite up to speed on fishing attire. A few people came over to chitchat. I let Steve do all the talking. I stared out into the sea.
I watched the rippling of the water and the gentle rise and fall of the waves. In the ephemeral light of the cloudy day, every shade of blue appeared on the water’s surface. For just a moment. No fish did I see but I kept imagining them down in the dark depths, nibbling on my squid. Birds flew overhead. Sailboats drifted by. In the end, I caught nothing except of course that calm. Unexpected but welcome. A treat. As Steve and I walked back to the car, and he outlined our strategy for next time so that we’d actually catch something, I realized I didn’t need to a catch a fish. It was the journey that mattered to me, not the destination. When I shared that revelation with Steve, he was quiet for a moment, then said, “I respect your feelings. But let’s test that theory once you actually have a fish on the line.”
Words + Images 