In those first few months of quarantine 2020, it seemed impossible to establish a routine that felt remotely like productive life. The idleness of my days weighed on me and, far from itching to get going on something, my energy level flattened out and I abandoned nearly all pretext of useful pursuits. My reading was my salvation; I tore through novels of Elena Ferrante and Carlos Ruiz Zafon, Turgenev and Hardy, Kazuo Ishiguro and Edith Wharton. Jeff Bezos finally got his rocket off the ground thanks to my Kindle addiction, I'm sure. I finally had decent internet service, so Netflix ate up a good portion of those empty days. My laziness precluded gardening, and the weeds flourished. To my shame, I recklessly took shovel in hand into the bright sun and tackled the offending verdure, only to collapse gasping in front of the open refrigerator after just twenty minutes.
Last week, I received a notice from the San Marcos post office saying something had arrived with my name on it. This was earthshaking, really. The Managua airport had been closed for much of the quarantine period, which meant that no mail service from outside the country was possible. Over the past couple of months, though, some service had resumed with other Central American carriers, including some flights to Miami, so mail could trickle through. When I picked up my envelope, I had to laugh. It reminded me that after my failed gardening effort in May, 2020, I had perused seed catalogues online to try and feed the tiny flame of interest in growing anything. I remember looking through several US-based vendors only to find that they were running out of most of the herbs I wanted to order. It seemed that Americans were not only baking sourdough bread, but also tillling up their yards to fill their quarantine days. No dill, no basil, no curly parsley. Eventually I did find a dealer with herbs in stock, in Devon, England. So I ordered five packets of seeds at an outrageous price (that included free shipping anywhere in the world!) and, well, time passed. My garden withered. Sloth reigned, Mr. Besos built another rocket.
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| Pathetic, but scads of potential... |
I laughed to see Devon, England on the return address. The order was dated May, 2020, and though I had long forgotten all about it, my seeds had fought their way around the world to arrive in July, 2021. In pristine condition, I might add. Heaven knows in what sack or cubbyhole in what country they hibernated for fourteen months. I wasn't even sure if they would sprout a full year after their designated growing season.
We'll see... Basil, Italian parsley, curly parsley, dill and rosemary. I'm hoping I can update this post with luscious seedlings before too long. Fingers crossed.
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| Go, team, go! |
And three weeks later...
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| Tootie Frootie on guard! |
