SUMMER 2005
The summer of 2005 began with me reading On Writing by Stephen King. It was the summer between 2nd and 3rd grade for my daughter M., her first at Beacon Summer Day Camp.
I wanted to plant something. I thought maybe if I planted something and it grew it would be a symbol of hope for the future.
I gathered the pots and trays for under the pots I'd been storing under the sink. I bought new pebbles to line the pots from the garden/hardware store on First Avenue and 6th Street. I inventoried the open and unopened seed packets under the sink. I decided on coleus, since they were the only plant to thrive from the Shade Mix seeds I'd planted the year I had a windowbox. (Maybe it was more than one year, because I remember growing pansies and petunias in that windowbox. Every time my poor pansy produced a flower, a big bluejay appeared, let out a squawk, and ate it.) I bought new potting soil. M. and I spread newspaper on the kitchen floor, lined three pots with pebbles and broken pot shards, put soil in the pots, planted the seeds, watered them. Three was the number of pots that would fit on the one windowsill where we can put plants; the one without an air conditioner or fire escape. The one where my husband J.'s desk is.
For a long while there was nothing more than little green shoots. Then small plants with no color on their leaves. Then I put one of the pots on the ledge outside the bathroom window, and soon it looked like a coleus plant is supposed to: bigger, with red spots on its leaves. After that, the plants each got a turn on the ledge, a couple of days at a time Soon they were all healthy colorful coleus plants.
When it got cold I watched for the first frost warning to make sure the plants were all inside for the winter. Because the blind on that window was broken it was awhile before I noticed how big they were getting. They had climbed most of the way up the window, like climbing vines. I had thought that coleus didn't flower, but these were flowering like crazy.
I wanted to plant something. I thought maybe if I planted something and it grew it would be a symbol of hope for the future.
I gathered the pots and trays for under the pots I'd been storing under the sink. I bought new pebbles to line the pots from the garden/hardware store on First Avenue and 6th Street. I inventoried the open and unopened seed packets under the sink. I decided on coleus, since they were the only plant to thrive from the Shade Mix seeds I'd planted the year I had a windowbox. (Maybe it was more than one year, because I remember growing pansies and petunias in that windowbox. Every time my poor pansy produced a flower, a big bluejay appeared, let out a squawk, and ate it.) I bought new potting soil. M. and I spread newspaper on the kitchen floor, lined three pots with pebbles and broken pot shards, put soil in the pots, planted the seeds, watered them. Three was the number of pots that would fit on the one windowsill where we can put plants; the one without an air conditioner or fire escape. The one where my husband J.'s desk is.
For a long while there was nothing more than little green shoots. Then small plants with no color on their leaves. Then I put one of the pots on the ledge outside the bathroom window, and soon it looked like a coleus plant is supposed to: bigger, with red spots on its leaves. After that, the plants each got a turn on the ledge, a couple of days at a time Soon they were all healthy colorful coleus plants.
When it got cold I watched for the first frost warning to make sure the plants were all inside for the winter. Because the blind on that window was broken it was awhile before I noticed how big they were getting. They had climbed most of the way up the window, like climbing vines. I had thought that coleus didn't flower, but these were flowering like crazy.
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