According to Chinese medicine, there are five general types of people. When an acupuncturist took my medical history, he said, “I assume you grow a garden.” I am, apparently, an Earth type, tied to the soil and the change of seasons.
So in the dead of winter I get two gifts. First is the winter solstice, when we acknowledge that we have made it a half-way through the dark. The second gift is the seed catalogues in the mail; the promise of spring, and sunshine, and growth. No weeds in the pretty pictures, unless you count the tame little things being uprooted by a proffered hoe. Perfect anticipation, when I can imagine ripe vegies, free of weeds, and insects, and drought.
The reality is that come August I will wade out in the garden, waist deep in unwanted weeds, and and do a treasure hunt to find our dinner.
That’s ok. Imperfection tastes great.