“Are you ready?”

The Bohemian is smiling down and cooing at fresh vegetable starts. Kale, parsley and basil, all sprouted from seed are about to go in the ground.

We’ve been elbow deep in soil and horse manure, turning over garden beds with our forearms. We’ve pulled weeds, separated stones and shaped a home with our palms. The beds prepped, the spaces plotted, the next step is planting.

Like everything else with this man so far, the garden work is easy. Smooth and intuitive. Pleasant, actually.

We pat the new plants into place while he whistles low and happy. His hands move deliberately, carving out spaces with care. Occasionally he’ll shower them with a carbon dioxide prayer, lulling softly, “beautiful garden.” I think I saw the parsley lift its leaves and curve toward him. Because he’s like that, you know. Be it plants or animals, they rise up basking in his presence.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

People, too, it’s true.

But before one can pin him to the ethereal realms of St. Francis of the plant and animal kingdom, he turns downright practical. Opens a bag full of tools and dismantles the faulty deadbolt on my front door. Locking mechanisms are removed, oiled well, tightened or loosened, rearranged…I don’t’ know what he does. Something. What I do know is that when he’s done with the screwdriver and his Rubik’s cube-like, dexterous manipulations, my lock and key move with unprecedented ease.

Even Jeb notices. “Hey, I can unlock the door myself now!”

Back in the garden beds, we saved room for more planting. He’s set on growing garlic even though he’s heard it’s hard. I tell him he can have a space here to give it a try.

Then our imaginations outgrow the present boxes. He’s already building another raised bed in his mind, tracing its size with his finger, mid-air, doubling what we have. We rattle off the list of food we’d like to plant there.

I suggest some marigolds. Ahh…I’d really like arugula too. He’s smiling. He knows where I bask. Just nods his head and breathes a little prayer my way, grinning.

“Yes, Jess.”

I can’t help it. I’m smiling too.

Curve a little closer.

2 thoughts on “Curving

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