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There's a phrase I've heard, "planting the fruit trees".
The thing with planting the fruit trees -- even if one gets the ones in pots that will actually flower this year or at most next -- is they're a long-term commitment. They're settling down and expecting a harvest, planning in the long term, laying preparations that will come to fruition on a scale of years.
Today we went out to run some errands, and I spent a while wandering the garden section of Home Depot while![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
teinedreugan went looking for screws and things. I stayed practical for a while, looked for phlox to see what they had, mostly, because that would be a good thing to plant along borders and look good for preparing to move house and . . . stuff like that, y'know.
There's only so long one can spend looking at phlox and seeing what the mulch supplies look like, though.
There were peach trees, slender in their buckets, waiting for someone to take them home and reintroduce them to the earth. There were apple trees and cherry trees that I saw, several kinds of each, some flowering, some past flowered, some still in the bud. There were probably other sorts of trees there.
There were bleeding hearts. Peppermint. There were little decorative garden widgets in shiny brass that also serve as water sprinklers.
There were half-gallon buckets of tomato plant, dozens of different kinds of peppers.
And trees.
I want to plant my fruit trees. I want to settle into the comfort of a life that has five, ten, twenty years of understanding more or less where things are. I want to grow up fixed and grow up settled.
I can't do that now. It aches. I recognise the ache -- not just the ache of the trees, but of all the things the trees stand for in my heart right now in their vast cascades of symbolism -- and acknowledge it, and it sits there, settled in its place, waiting for me to to be ready to sink my roots down into the earth, drink in the lifewater, and put out greenery in the place that is my own.
This is much on my mind, as I was already planning on writing this entry when I responded toyezida:
And I can can the peaches, preserve them in slices and purify them with heat, so that they don't make my throat swell and devour my ability to taste with itchful pain. Knowing how to bend that need to the physically possible is also enough to stave off madness and despair.
The thing with planting the fruit trees -- even if one gets the ones in pots that will actually flower this year or at most next -- is they're a long-term commitment. They're settling down and expecting a harvest, planning in the long term, laying preparations that will come to fruition on a scale of years.
Today we went out to run some errands, and I spent a while wandering the garden section of Home Depot while
teinedreugan went looking for screws and things. I stayed practical for a while, looked for phlox to see what they had, mostly, because that would be a good thing to plant along borders and look good for preparing to move house and . . . stuff like that, y'know.There's only so long one can spend looking at phlox and seeing what the mulch supplies look like, though.
There were peach trees, slender in their buckets, waiting for someone to take them home and reintroduce them to the earth. There were apple trees and cherry trees that I saw, several kinds of each, some flowering, some past flowered, some still in the bud. There were probably other sorts of trees there.
There were bleeding hearts. Peppermint. There were little decorative garden widgets in shiny brass that also serve as water sprinklers.
There were half-gallon buckets of tomato plant, dozens of different kinds of peppers.
And trees.
I want to plant my fruit trees. I want to settle into the comfort of a life that has five, ten, twenty years of understanding more or less where things are. I want to grow up fixed and grow up settled.
I can't do that now. It aches. I recognise the ache -- not just the ache of the trees, but of all the things the trees stand for in my heart right now in their vast cascades of symbolism -- and acknowledge it, and it sits there, settled in its place, waiting for me to to be ready to sink my roots down into the earth, drink in the lifewater, and put out greenery in the place that is my own.
This is much on my mind, as I was already planning on writing this entry when I responded to
yezida:- This is my big revelation about "need":
"I need this" is always an incomplete statement. And the other half of it is sometimes the critical bit.
"I need this to survive." "I need this for physical health." "I need this for this relationship to be functional for me." "I need this to satisfy the call of this art within me." "I need this for sanity." "I need this to grow up fixed."
Needs are never without context -- there is always what they are needed for, and sometimes the bindings are not in the need, but in the needed-for, and knowing the needed-fors makes the needs better.
Today, today I need to plant my fruit trees to satisfy the longing in my soul for time and plans laid deep and peaches in their season. This is not a need that I can meet, though I walked the length of rows of trees sitting in pots and yearning for the good earth, this is not the time, there is not the place . . . but today, this is what I need.
And knowing why I need it, knowing what I need it for, today, also, that is enough to stave off madness and despair.
And I can can the peaches, preserve them in slices and purify them with heat, so that they don't make my throat swell and devour my ability to taste with itchful pain. Knowing how to bend that need to the physically possible is also enough to stave off madness and despair.
