Sowing Our Seeds

Waking up I saw that I had several text messages from “This Is Not Called Lotto’s Lot”, and I felt that familiar feeling of anticipation as I prepared for whatever mission we were given to take care of the garden.

We were about to plant our seeds!

As the clock neared four, I felt anxious to get started and plant our babies. As I neared the garden, I could hear the voices of my fellow gardeners and picked up my pace so I could help sow our seeds. However, I couldn’t get to the garden until half past four. After the seeds were already tucked in small, dark pods within the earth. I felt my heart sink and, as crazy as it seems, an unshakable sense of betrayal on my part. I felt that heavy despondence that a parent must feel when disappointing their small child. We were dismissed about ten minutes after my arrival, and I swore I would somehow make this up to the garden as melodramatic as it may be.

Walking up the steep incline of Montclair, I couldn’t help but wonder how much I had dropped the ball on my “parenting” duties but also that of my obligation to my group. As I reached the corner of West Eighth Street and Montclair, I realized that perhaps I was overreacting just a tad and that this wasn’t the end of the world, and that my answer was to just do better and get back to the garden at the earliest opportunity.