It’s 10:32 p.m. EST. What can I write about food in 15 minutes?
Today, I spent a couple of hours in the garden. As the light waned and we relied increasingly on the glow of a remote street lamp, we weeded and transplanted. The plot never fails to serve up metaphors. Today, a poignant one came care of some dandelion roots. These sneaky things had lodged themselves under the soil, snaking out beneath the surface of the arugula patch. No leaves whispered their secret. Not even a sprout hinted at their proliferation. Yet all the while these roots grew.
What are these things?
To those following politics and interested in Obama and Cheney’s dueling speeches yesterday (or just amused by the juxtaposition of a wiry green shoot and a tough old stump), they could have been the terrorist forces Cheney threatened would be unleashed on America if Guantanamo detainees were allowed to alight on our soil.
To anyone who has nudged a relative about a family story and seen far more than they had intended to dig for, it is the endless string of secrets that has been lurking just a few inches below.
To someone who went to the doctor with a cough and came away reeling with a life-threatening diagnosis, these roots could represent the hidden troubles of a fallable body.
So much in that handful of roots–which are now gone, as far as I can tell, and planted over. There could always be more… of whatever it is.
10:46! Okay, 14 minutes.
Happy gardening to all, and to all a good night.