We cleared out our three tomato gardens on Saturday. It was a beautiful day to be outside. Every sunny day seems like my last chance to catch a little vitamin D until May of 2009. The back yard is always at its ugliest in October. There's no snow to cover up the brown patches and leafless trees. There's nothing good to eat out there. It's going to sleep. And I'm piling on the layers of clothing. It's about 40 degrees outside this morning. I'm dressed for a sub-zero climate.
We've decided to go ahead and plant asparagus in the spring. We can put in a line of lilacs against the neighbor's ugly fence and put a few long rows of asparagus in front of it. So, three years from now, the sting of the field of dead asparagus incident will be wearing off a bit. I'll be snapping the ends off of the purple asparagus from my own yard while I stare at a giant bouquet of lilacs in my very own kitchen. This plan doesn't restore my asparagus-farmer status, but that's OK. I've been a lot of things that I'm not anymore. Even when it seems to suck at the moment, leaving something behind (or having it leave me) always yields something more amazing than I could have imagined. So, I'm making peace with the field of dead asparagus incident and turning my attention towards my own back yard. I know. There's probably some larger significance to this whole thing. I'll think about that tomorrow.
As for right now, I'm trying to decide if I should officially turn our last empty corner of the basement into a grow room (tomatoes, people. Jeez.) or if I should turn one end of B's room back into the house of baby green things. The Christmas tree goes up, the Christmas tree comes down, and then it's time to order seeds. (It's my own personal Christmas.) By mid-January, I'll be playing soft pop music and blowing a space heater on tiny cells of sterile dirt. Waiting for my own personal spring.