On this episode of City Girl In the Country, the family built their mother a garden for Mother’s Day. When I, Mother, arrived home and saw this (without the descriptive sign),
I thought perhaps husband had bought a tiger. He lovingly described his intention, “You’ve always wanted a garden. I thought it would be a great present.” And it was. The most thoughtful and ambitious one yet. And yes, I’ve long held images of me preparing a wholesome organic dinner with fresh ingredients from a garden planted, cared for, and harvested by yours truly. But dreams and reality are very different beasts. What do I, a vested city girl, know about gardening?
Stifling my panic and premature thoughts of failure, I smiled at husband through clenched teeth. Poor thing, he looked so enthusiastic and optimistic.
He may have conveniently forgotten my history of city-girl-itis. There was the time nature boy husband was away on business and I found the ugliest little animal swimming in our pool. With its matted grey hair, absent eyes, and what appeared to be a ‘sucker’ for a nose, it resembled a mutated mouse.
Convinced that this unfortunate creature had been exposed to hazardous chemicals hidden in my yard, I scooped it into a bucket and marched it to the bus stop for show and tell. A country neighbor – without the courtesy to stifle his amusement – set me straight, informing me that this mutation was, in fact, a common mole. Scraping for self-respect, I argued that it didn’t look like any cute picture of a mole I’d seen in my childhood books. And we most certainly did not see these in the city. Hmph.
Then there’s the time husband took me to Maine for the first time. We sat on a deck lined with red flowers. A hummingbird (an exotic bird by city-girl standards) appeared from nowhere and stopped to suck nectar from the flowers. I exclaimed, “Oh, look how cute! She thinks the flowers are a hummingbird feeder!”
Several seconds of stunned silence followed when husband realized that his Summa Cum Laude wife was serious. Gently and slowly, as if I might be having a stroke, husband asked, “Honey, which do you think came first? Hummingbird feeders or flowers?” Recognizing my grave error, I chuckled nervously and left to make a sandwich. You can take the girl out of the city, but….
It’s been several years since I’ve moved out of the city. I now understand the difference between septic and sewer and why we have no well water when the electricity goes out. (Which it does on a ridiculously predictable basis in the woods.) Yes, I’ve adjusted to the country life. But the city is in me. Gardening is not.
I don’t think husband should have been shocked when he had to instruct me to cut the broccoli – which had grown without my help, by the way. (I love a self-sufficient plant.) When I argued that I couldn’t find a pair of scissors, husband retrieved the kitchen shears and said, “Use these.” Too quickly I protested, “But those are for food.” Husband shouted, “AND WHAT DO YOU THINK BROCCOLI IS?!” Oops.
Husband carried on for a long while about city brains and packaged food and grocery stores and cold eggs. Geez, it’s not like I’ve ever claimed to be Farmer Brown or anything. Cut me some slack.
Out I went in search of broccoli. And I returned, proudly, with this:
My very first crop. (Pause for admiration.)
I held that broccoli high, like a trophy. I couldn’t have been more proud if it had sprouted from my own ears. I’ve incubated, birthed, and raised three children, but this…the growing of a vegetable…this is a miracle.
After admiring the broccoli as a centerpiece in the kitchen all day, I did eventually cook it. Eight year old daughter deemed it ‘Not as good as store-bought. But you’ll get there, Mom.’
Yes, darling, I think I will. There’s hope for me yet. Though I doubt the producers of this life of mine will be cancelling the longest-running sit-com in history any time soon.
Chaos & Clarity 