1 Year later and I'm Turning Into My Mother

Facebook has informed me that I have been married for exactly one year!

What does it feel like? Not that different, actually. It just feels like the next step down the path that Alex and I have chosen for ourselves. We still make time for each other just like we did when we were dating, and we still hang out with our friends apart from each other.

What has changed the most is the surroundings, honestly. My blog post about my wedding was written in a apartment, this one is written in a house. I wrote about my wedding with the darling cat of my childhood purring next to me, I write this with a pair of kittens sprawled on the other side of the couch, a couple of new lives as we begin a new chapter of our own.

Instead of having to save the top tier, our bakery gave us a free anniversary cake

Home ownership has brough out things about me that I had forgotten about. I remember now how much I loved having a bird feeder to look at, and how I loved identifying the birds (and the squirrels) as they came to snack. I used to do chores in the yard and garden regularly. I haven't used any of that knowledge in years, and here I am, regaling Alex with the proper care of tomato plants. This proves to me that the dreaded fate of the daughter is coming true: I am turning into my mother!

Mother's Day is fast-approaching, so let me tell you about my mother, and why I am turning into her. My mother raised a garden all through my childhood and to this day. Every day, she was happy to see the little plants progress, tending them until they were ready to harvest and enjoy. I remember her calling me to the garden to show me an exceptionally large squash or an oddly-shaped tomato.

As anyone who gardens can attest, no one grows a garden just for themselves, not unless you are deeply passionate about grilled zucchini. If you have a garden you share. My mother was no exception, foisting buckets of zucchini, jars of salsa, and bags of green beans off onto anyone who would take them. We made zucchini bread, scones, and a decadent chocolate zucchini cake that I remember to this day. Even after all of that, we still had extra vegetables. I was given free reign to smush up old cucumbers, zucchini, and tomatoes at my grandparents' cabin, making a huge, mushy mess to dump in the lake.

At the time, I didn't fully appreciate the joys of gardening. It was hot, and the mosquitos found me delicious. It seemed like a lot of work, the kind of work that leaves one sweaty and mud-streaked. But when Alex and I were looking at houses, we were also looking at back yards. When Alex and I looked out the back door of the house that would be ours, I said "This would be great for a garden."

A garden I wanted, and a garden I would have. I dove into research and constructed raised beds to alleviate the problems of the north Texas clay-packed soil. I built the boxes and asked for assistance hauling in mulch and soil. I selected plants and carefully placed them in the beds. And I waited.

Anyone who knows me knows that I like things to happen quickly. If I am given a chore, it's done within hours. If I decide to plan a vacation, I have flights priced out in minutes. If I decide to build a costume, I've already got a plan and I'm brainstorming how to make the character on the screen abide by the laws of physics enough to make a costume possible. But you know what gardening takes? Time. Patience. *Sigh* Sometimes I feel like God played a joke on me, putting a desire to garden in a brain that doesn't like to wait. I've always thought of my mother as a patient person (she raised four kids, if she wasn't patient before, she is now), so like my mother, I was patient, and I found that the waiting wasn't as hard as I thought. I found joy in stomping out to the garden every day to look at the progress. I stared at my little plants, wondering "is that a new leaf? Are they getting taller?"

I marveled at the natural processes so finely tuned by the Creator. I hoped that I had set up the boxes correctly, that the soil would support my fast-growing vegetables. At this point, I am more observer than keeper. My back yard has been blessed with rain every week, meaning I barely have to water, a rarity in this part of the country. I weed and ensure that my plants remain unbothered by pests. And they grow, they do all the work. I call Alex over to show him my first zucchini as it grows seemingly an inch every day, and to ramble about my plan to turn these tiny green tomatoes into salsa when they grow fat and red. Just like my mother used to do to me. I am turning into my mother.

And I get it. I want to share this garden, too. I want to make that rich zucchini cake again, and offer my friends extra tomatoes. I have enjoyed conversing with my mom on the joys of gardening, asking her what kitchen scraps to save for composting, and even giving her tips like using a hose timer for consistent watering.

I'm not sure if my other knew it at the time, but when she was asking me for help picking green beans and explaining how far apart to plant the peas, she was planting another kind of seed. A seed of appreciation for the simple act of growing food. And that appreciation has given me a hobby that yields more than just a fine homemade salsa. As the plants grow, I am working to grow patience. I am appreciating the beauty of life as it erupts from the ground. Humanity has gardened for millennia, and I'm just continuing the tradition. Sounds pretty grand for a back yard, doesn't it?

These pictures were taken eight days apart, it will never cease to amaze me. The zucchini in stores always look so small, i like to let them get a bit bigger. This one will be delicious!

But the big thing that puts a smile on my face today is this: I'm turning into my mother, in a good way. Sure, turning into your mother can be a bad thing, but in this case, it's not so bad. As I send her a picture of my huge zucchini and ask her for the family salsa recipe, I don't mind being a little more "Mom" today.