I used to have a huge garden, but over the past few years I haven't had the time nor the energy to properly devote to that anymore. Or maybe it's just that my growing fascination with refinishing garage sale finds and crafting signs from old pallets has slowly taken away my time and attention.
But there's one little tradition that still holds fast and that's the annual planting of an avocado seed. Such a simple thing really. I love avocadoes, either plain, or with salad dressing, sliced up in a salad or smashed into guacamole. Whatever - they are yummy.
I'll take the seed, wash it, poke it with a couple of tooth picks and carefully suspend it in a glass of water on the sink. I watch it and nurture it, full of hope that one day some roots will start to dangle from the bottom and a stem will sprout from the top, reaching skyway, or towards the cabinets at any rate.
If I'm lucky it will soon spout some leaves and pretty soon I can pick out a colorful pot to plant it in. I'll happily move it over to the sunny kitchen window and watch as it thrives and eventually I will take it outside for the summer.
I don't have a clue why I insist on trying to grow a damn avocado tree either. I've never managed to grow one past the following autumn. They always die off on me. I'm going with the fact that our Chicago winters are too cold for a fragile avocado tree to survive. Probably not true, but that's what I'm going with.
On Saturday I again poked a few toothpicks into this years sacrificial avocado seed. I'm looking forward to spring and warm weather and shorts and tee shirts. I'm thinking about the promise of new growth, not only for flowers and plants, but for myself as well. And if I fall flat on my face like my avocado plants usually do, well, then I'll pick myself up and just start over again.
New beginnings..... What promise does spring hold for you?
Want to grow an avocado? Click here to see how.
