I have, of late,  redirected my time and energies  into this  rather  physical art and practical science of gardening.

Frankly, gardening is included in my resume. I used to be an avid gardener a few years back but had sadly lost interest when Hurricane Wilma damaged our patio, fence and pergola.  The  roof debris may be gone now, and the fence raised to life, now,  but my passion for gardening left with the storm and did not  at all return.  Our patio fell into disarray.  As the months and years passed, mounds  of junk had piled up everywhere: boxloads of paper, toys, garbage, rotting wood, styrofoam coolers, gasoline containers, bikes, gardening equipment…and cartloads   of dead leaves.  It was an eyesore that greeted me everyday as I went in and out of the house.

This year, I have gotten my “second wind”.   I came back  revived and recharged  with a spring fever that heat up with the summer sun.  As of date the spring fever that sweltered with the heat hasn’t cooled off yet.

I finally completed my garden this summer, a feat involving much pulling and bending and twisting and digging, not only into the rocky Florida soil, but into the wallet, as well.  Yes, Mistress Mary, unlike  back home where everybody gets their specimens from everybody else, here in America, you actually have to buy your plant, yes, your soil, too, and  pots, fertilizer, even the bamboo poles to hold up your plants. This would add up  to a  fair amount of money, enough for a monthly car payment.  Which is why, after the initial investment,  I have become wiser and now ask for  clippings from my sister-in-law, or sneak out cuttings   from the plants in our community pool.

Be as it may, the pleasure of watching my plants grow and my flowers bud and bloom, is an experience worth the backache and the pocket ache, and the enormous amount of time  (away from the other loves of my life) it takes to start and maintain a plant paradise.

It is worth investing into your soul.  Gazing out into my garden umphteen times a day gives me a sweet satisfaction and enjoyment that my technologically -inclined husband will never understand.  It is the first thing I check on my way out to work in the morning, and the first thing I see when I come home.  My plants are like my children that I have to constantly hover on everyday to make sure their needs are met. I am quite protective of them–keeping pests away and looking out for early signs of diseases.  It is best to catch them early before the damage is irreparable, as what happened to my lovely dual-colored crape myrtle and my row of flowering Mexican petunias which I trimmed bare due to a severe  aphid infestation.

Just this week the gardenia (rosal) bud that  have been budding for a month  finally bloomed, I actually gasped with delight as it greeted me with its heady fragrance when I came home from work one evening!  My purple and pink crape myrtles have flowered.  My nerium oleander seems to like its place in the garden–yielding  clusters of fushchia pink flowers.

I had another surprise today when I found the beginnings of a papaya fruit on my tree.  I am so proud of my two papaya babies.  Despite attacks from the green monsters they have flourished over the past months and grown taller than my fence.  A certain large green lizard and an iguana have made feast of its young leaf buds  we have to constantly keep them at bay with stones, and bb gun pellets, and any throwable object in sight.

Watching my garden is delightful; it is like yoga for the mind. I could stand minutes on end inspecting my plants in their pots and plots and baskets.  The act of watching is actually an act of self-gratification and self-actualization. I am seeing the so-called fruit of my labor.  Come to think of it:  gardening  is really a parable on parenting.  We invest our time, money and ourselves into our kids, we make sure they are healthy in body, soul and mind (feeding and fertilizing).  We protect them (driving pests and predators) and discipline them (prune) as necessary, we give them the best environment to grow in (right soil and light)   and to  watch them flourish and grow (bud and bloom) gives us satisfaction and a sense of self fulfilment.

I am not comparing my child to a garden.  Our kids are certainly more complicated and more precious.   But after all that’s been said, the gardener in you would know exactly what I mean.