We may be pushing the limits of Zone 5, but my Beloved got his hands dirty yesterday planting things.
Here it is, late April, and we’re putting seedlings in the cold, dry ground and hoping for the best.
In a testimony to our commitment to this underwater house, we invested in a rhubarb plant.
I didn’t know one could plant rhubarb. I thought this strange flora just grew in certain places, situated there by luck or happenstance. Nope, it turns out your can plant this fruit? vine? bush? as long as you have the patience to allow it to grow for a couple of years before your intended harvest.
I had a rhubarb plant in the backyard of the first house I bought. I still own that house but it’s occupied by renters. I wonder if I could appear on the porch of that abode, claiming rights to the rhubarb in the back yard.
I only need a few stalks. One makes rhubarb crisp but once a season.
In any case, my Beloved has a yen for rhubarb pie (he’s getting crisp, not pie, but we can argue about that in three years hence) so here it is, struggling for life:
Impressive, isn’t it. Those spindly pink stalks? Squint — they’re the things with little green leaves on the end. Not a weed but a rhubarb plant. Trust me. It said so on the package.
He also planted a couple of raspberry plants in the “federally protected wetlands” beyond the fence in the back yard. I suspect the deer may find them irresistible, but we’ll see. Like the rhubarb, it’ll take a couple of years to harvest the fruit of our investment. The raspberry plants sit beneath the mulberry tree, which looks dead to me now but yielded several cups of mulberries last June.
Looks can be deceiving.
In any case, a prayer for the little plants is in order. I found this stanza in a prayer titled “The Refuge of the Glen” from my book of “Graces: Prayers & Poems for Everyday Meals and Special Occasions” book by June Cotner:
I search for fruits from vines and trees
As I walk among the falling leaves,
I watch an eagle as he glides,
And think what wonders God provides.