bigger fish to fry
I can look back on this gardening year without shame. The tomatoes went crazy, as indeterminate growers are apt to do, and we hurriedly made jars of oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes, 17 pints of salsa, and 5 quarts of tomato soup. We'll make tomato sauce soon and at that point, we will have exhausted our repertoire of tomato-based products. We'll get a little late season arugula in October and a grand finale of evergreen huckleberries in November - and by that time, the garden will have run its full course.I can't help but notice how the life of our garden perfectly corresponds with this life inside of me. Fully preparing the soil, building up the compost - all of that started late last winter. It's a full nine month period of nurturing the plants, sacrificing various offshoots, and watering during the dry summer months. At this time of year, you start to feel the internal anxiety that comes around the equinox - just go on and change already….the clouds want to, the trees want to, the soil is tired and desperately wants to - it's almost palpable. Someone recently referred to New Hampshire as an expectant mother during the month of September - and I couldn't have described it any better. There's an ever present, and growing reminder that this child also wants to move on to something different. I've been marking this whole journey by the leaves, and have a hard time believing that they're done growing, they've had their drunken summer, they're ready to leave their limbs.
To an extent, this autumnal change is exciting. But most of it scares me to the core. At this point, I'm in complete control of our unborn child's logistical life. He goes where I go. He eats what I eat. Maybe he feels my internal awkwardness when placed in a less-than ideal social situation. Maybe he's also uncomfortable when we're camping in the Southern Cascades at 8-1/2 months pregnant and can't seem to find a position suitable for sleeping. Maybe he was exhilarated by taking a bath in the 45-degree Rogue River, some kind of baptism courtesy of Mount Mazama's snowmelt. Maybe he felt as peaceful as I did when seeing Crater Lake for the first time. But we're nearing the end of our shared experience, and there's an anticipatory sense of mourning there.
I promise this won't turn into a baby blog, and there will never be a mention of anyone "going pee pee in the big boy potty" or the like. However, I feel that I wouldn't be being honest with myself if I didn't acknowledge how much the pending birth of this little boy is affecting my life. It is, and I'm simultaneously thrilled and terrified.
posted by jessica @ 11:41 AM
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