seedlings

On the fire escape balcony are a few humble tools for planting. A small sturdy hand shovel. A brush and dust pan. A 4L milk jug with a cap that I poked with a hot pin to make a gentle watering can. And there are plants bought from the greenhouse as well as seeds and soil.

I lift the balcony boxes and hanging baskets and set them on the deck. I dump the hardened soil within them into a cardboard tray from my last grocery order. I get to work breaking it up; feeling it relent between my fingers. It’s a wholesome task and I exhale relief as last year’s roots are untangled.

The planters are refilled and new potting soil added to freshen the mix. With my son I nestle small plants into the hanging baskets: strawberry, basil, parsley and cucumber. While he naps I press hopeful seeds into the soil of the boxes. I’ve never grown snap peas and morning glories from seed before, and so (for their sake) I try to remain calm. But I cannot resist the urge to wish them all luck as I cover them over with soil. I imagine them growing up a trellis. I imagine their blooms and seed pods. If they succeed, if we all succeed, the greenery will provide a canopy of dappled shade and privacy on the modest outdoor extension of our home. The peas will be picked and crunched. The morning glories will be supernaturally luminous.

I read that one should plant seeds while the moon is full. It just so happened that it lined up with when I intended to plant. The poet in me swooned. The skeptic deemed it harmless. The new moon arrives in two nights hence and there are a few sprouts reaching above the shallow earth. I’ll do whatever it takes.

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All of it is a reminder of the row of mixed flowers my mother gave me to plant in the garden as a young girl. When I was older I harvested beans, peas, raspberries, corn and the like as well as the dreaded gooseberries with their inescapable thorns. Every few years we could be found along the dirt road north of the house picking Saskatoon berries and suffering the mosquitos. Saskatoon berry picking was a competitive sport where I grew up – tales of how many gallons of berries were in whose freezers were told over styrofoam cups of coffee in church basements.

Once the various crops were harvested, my mother and I would clean, prepare, process and store. If there were peas to shell, my brother and I would sit on the front step with plastic colanders on our laps. We ate and fed the dog as many as what reached the kitchen. If there were green beans, both ends were sliced off with a paring knife and then the bean was run through a bean frencher. I would turn the crank and my mother fed bunches through. I can hear the sound of them squeaking against the plastic sides.

Our balcony is not the same as what I had as a kid, but learning the names of plants, getting hands in the dirt, watering thirsty roots, and marking the progress from spring to fall… that is all the same and is what we’re planning as this summer’s main event.

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1983

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july 11
Saskatchewan Jazz Festival
Saskatoon, SK
with Johnny Reid, Alex Cuba, Jeffery Straker
tickets

july 13
Big Flat Folk Festival
Eastend, SK
with Colter Wall, Blake Berglund, Del Barber, Noeline Hofmann, Zachary Lucky, Lachlan Neville, Gil and Wil
~ sold out ~

september 7
Homestand Festival
Ross Wells Ball Park
Moose Jaw, SK
with 54•40, Toque, The Steadies
tickets