For all my gypsy wanderings, traveller life style and objection to settling – I put down roots today. Well, planted them anyway. Wilted and forlorn clumps of Basil, Thyme, Oregano, Rosemary, Parsley and Lemongrass were kindly donated to fulfil my need to play in the dirt. But it was more than a desire to play. It was a need to nurture, tend to and enjoy the herbs of my labour and love. A need that had been niggling at me for quite a while to get back to the living elements of life.
I’m in no way a green thumb. But I like gardens, trees, being outdoors and playing around in dirt. Living in an apartment squashes the notion of a conventional garden though. I also like to cook (I’m in no way brilliant at it, but it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy doing it!!) and the idea of being able to pick fresh herbs to use when I cook is just a little bit… romantic… organic… Jamie Oliver-esque… I can only dream!
Gardening on a balcony involves plastic pots and carrying a bag of soil up the stairs to put into the pots. It almost feels fake. Until my hands plunge into the soil, digging a hole for the roots to sit in. Spreading soil around the compacted soil entwined in the roots from the previous pot, which is now to small. Then pushing it all down together. Binding together. Ensuring that water will slowly trickle through the soil nourishing each particle and giving the roots time to drink. Ah, I feel alive again. Something so simple had such a meditative effect on me. The wonderful feeling of connection to nature. How I’ve missed you!
The smell of basil spikes the air, escaping from a few leaves crushed during the transfer of homes. Watering my newly potted plants, I looked on quite proudly… Contemplating which herbs I could use in my next cooking adventure.