Today was a gardening day, among other things.

Tanja has a passion for gardening and a real knack for it–well, knack may be putting it lightly–but since the fall she hasn’t wanted to talk about the garden because, I think, it is upsetting for her to face being unable to do, for the moment, this thing she loves. I think this because it is exactly what she has told me.

So, I’ve been out there doing the things I know how to do, just awaiting Tanja’s inevitable return. And recently, she has been able to consider it more. She had that afternoon of gardening a week ago, after which she retreated a bit because the difficulty of it surprised her and she needed to regroup.

And yesterday, she indicated she was prepared to do a garden little work today.

So, first thing in the morning, I took Tanja back to the greenhouse to see what I’d been working on.

Ok, you got me. We don’t have a greenhouse. This is a photo from our morning trip to Marbotts. Tanja is not a huge geranium fan, but it was so warm in there and the colors seemed to leap off the flowers and fill the air, so we hung there for a bit.

“If it were always this warm,” Tanja said, “I don’t think I’d even notice how cold my arms are.”

We got tomatoes: Black Krim, Mortgage Lifter, Big Beef, Sweet 100’s and, Tanja’s favorite, Sun Gold (although Marbotts has a different name for them). We got a couple Japanese eggplant because they did so well last year. We got peppers: cayenne, banana, habanero, and a couple varieties I’ve never heard of before. We got a new rosemary to replace the one our strange, on again off again winter laid to waste.

“What about spinach?” I said. “We eat a lot of spinach.”

“I think it’s too late to plant spinach,” Tanja said.

“Then why are they selling this,” I said, holding up a start triumphantly.

“That’s perpetual spinach,” Tanja said, reading the plastic stake.

“What’s that?” I said.

“I have no idea.”

“Perpetual sounds good. Much better than temporary spinach.”

“It’s a kind of chard,” Tanja said, reading the description, “whose leaves resemble spinach in shape and taste… more hardy… longer season… more tolerant of heat.”

“That’s my kind of spinach.”

We got flowers and grass seed and fertilizer. It was wonderful. Mr. Marbott passed last year but you could see his features in the young man behind the register. He rang up our stuff and when he got to the grass seed he said, “You’ve got lime?”

“We’ve got a ton for some reason.”

Mr. Marbott was a big proponent of lime when you reseed.

Then we came home and planted stuff. Or I did. Tanja was a little wiped out, so she napped and when I came back in she was just finishing unloading the dishwasher.

“How it go?”

“Fingers crossed.”

Planting is an act of faith. The thing you’re doing–digging a hole, sprinkling some water–doesn’t amount to much and, while it’s not unpleasant, it’s nothing you’d likely do if you didn’t believe in something else, something more, further down the line. Then these things grow, slowly–you never see them grow if you watch, but they’re working none the less; you go to sleep, they’re working away, sending out roots; you read a book, they’re working away; take a nap, do the dishes, eat a meal, watch a show, they’re working away. It’s hard to plant at a little sprout and think, “soon we’ll have eggplant.” But look away, think about other things for a second, and there it is.

Not that Tanja is an eggplant.

Countdown is at 16. Is that possible? Just 16 more days.