October 23, 2024

My dearest,

Gardening can be such a trial, I tell you. The seeds don’t germinate whether I use cocopeat or soil. I either overwater or don’t water enough. The plants I propagate from cuttings in water – rosemary, coleus, million bells, citronella – either don’t root or they root then wither and die after I repot them in soil.

I don’t have the patience for all of this.

Then you should learn patience, you say.

Gardening, you reckon, is a gift. An opportunity to learn patience since I lack it so.

I get defensive, of course; it is a natural knee-jerk response. It is human. I am only human.

Later, when I had more time and space to think about it, I realise you are absolutely correct. (As you often are, damnit.)

This is a gift. This is a chance to learn to let go and to quietly wait.

To hope but not hold in bated breath. If this seed won’t germinate, if that flower won’t bloom, it is okay. Still our garden grows, with or without my stressing over it, with or without my needless worry.

Still our garden grows, ever more beautiful and majestic. Our garden grows, like our love. We feed it with our attention and our time. We offer it our patience and quiet joy.

Yours, ever and always.