My Compost Avocado

My raspberries are getting out of control so I’d packed over my hoe and shovel and begun working on corralling them, moving some, stringing some up, pulling some weeds, and noting what needs to be done later.  Then there was the neighboring compost pile that needed stirring and raking.

That’s when I saw it.  A little plant growing out of the compost.  It was about a foot tall with shiny leaves. It clearly wasn’t a weed because there was only one. Weeds never hang out by themselves, they always bring their friends and relatives.  This was a solitary plant that looked to be a tree of some kind but not a plum or an apple like the trees growing nearby.  No, it was something else,  something familiar  but I wasn’t sure what.

Whatever it was it needed to be moved. It was in the middle of a thicket of rogue raspberry plants and an old compost pile both of which I was rearranging. So I dug it up.  There, just below the surface of the dirt, at the base of the stem, was the seed from which the plant had grown.  An avocado pit. It was an avocado tree growing in my compost pile!

And it was doing just fine.  It had great nutrients from the compost and was enjoying the heat of summer.  It had no way of knowing that in a few more weeks or a month we will have our first frost and that will kill the brave little tree.  It didn’t know and it didn’t worry, it just grew.

Remember the “Bloom where you are planted” posters? My compost avocado was doing just that.

I transplanted it into a pot.  It is still outside but I’ll bring it in before the first frost. And I will remember its story.

 

All These Plants Remind Me of You

Fall doesn’t officially start for another couple of weeks but summer is on its way out.  My garden is ripening its fall produce and the summer flowers are nearing their end.  It’s a nostalgic, sentimental time of year.

My Shasta daisies are done.They were almost 5 feet tall this year and produced handfuls of gorgeous bouquets. I got them from my mom decades ago.  Mom is 90 years old and I talk with her every day.  And I think of her again when I see my daisies.

There are a few crocosmia still blooming.  I remember you, my friends, every time I see them. You warned me, those years ago, that they would take over the garden. And that’s exactly what they’ve done.  I don’t see you very often any more but I think of you whenever I see my crocosmia.

The wild blackberries are ripening.  I remember our bike ride, my friend, over 30 years ago.  We came upon a patch of ripe blackberries that were too good to pass up.  After eating our fill, we wanted to take some home.  So we drank all our water, filled our water bottles with blackberries, and rode home.  You moved away long ago.  I heard that you married and had kids, who must be grown by now.  I don’t know where you are anymore but I think of you when I see a patch of ripe blackberries.

The vine maples are turning colors.  I first learned of vine maples when I became friends with you and we started hiking together.  You taught me about vine maples and Indian pipe and lots of mountain flowers.  We get together once or twice a year.  But I think of you whenever I see those plants.

And my manuka grapes are starting to ripen.  How could I not think you my friends, when I see my manukas? I remember those road trips over the mountains to gather a carload of grapes and bring them home. Now I have my own manukas and I think of you when I see them ripening.

Some of you, my friends,  I see often; some rarely; and some I have lost track of.  But that hasn’t stopped the memories. Thank you, my friends.  I think of you, and you, and you, when I see these plants.