For Christmas this year one of my gifts was an herb planter box, and last week, when I had some unexpected alone time with Ryan, he helped me plant it.
The coolest part of the experience was arguably the two little disks of compressed earth, which, when warm water was added, expanded into about twenty times their volume of rich black dirt, releasing the unmistakable scent of summer rainfall. And there is nothing like the tactile experience of having my hands in warm loamy earth. I put my hands in initially simply to mix it up and make sure the disks had completely expanded; and I kept stirring much longer than necessary because it sank me wrist-deep into the delicious sensation of summer gardening.
I let Ryan choose one of the seed packets to plant. He chose dill, arguably the one I’m least likely to use, but in the gardening euphoria of the moment I let it be. We worked together to “tuck in” the basil, cilantro, and dill seeds, and I explained that it would be several weeks before we saw anything, which he accepted with almost good grace.
Coincidentally, my Territorial Seed catalog just arrived. This is a dangerous combination. Sinking my hands into dirt just before looking at a seed catalog has the same psychological effect as sampling cookies just before walking into a kitchen store.