by Nadine Sellers

Created on: November 23, 2009   Last Updated: November 24, 2009

Cultivating a plot of land is very similar to caring for someone. For years, I prepared the soil, turned the compost and planted the gardens of our common life; and then harvested the leaves, the roots and the love of it all.

At first, I would introduce my husband to plants, by name and appearance. Then I launched into excited volleys of scientific findings, each sprout would be duly met with the many nutritional uses, medicinal information and, if I mistook his interest for patience, I added social context to the verbal excitement.

That was the first year, of course. When I realized that he had heard every story and personally been acquainted with every flower in woods and gardens, I lost some of the glow and enthusiasm of sharing.

Animals provided us with more common ground, there were insects and rodents, birds and mammals added to the natural spectrum.

He would stand, ready for the next lecture as I would pull a leaf from the mother plant and rub it sufficiently to draw its oils to bring the scent to life. I' d say smell this, he would hesitate or pull away, then his eyes would brighten, sometimes with a timid grin. You know so much about plants, I' ve never met anyone who can get excited about a little green thing as you do, he seemed overwhelmed.

I had lived in the desert for so many years that the return to my greenest youth was a source of intense pleasure for me. I needed to seek, to offer all the seasonal bounty available to us. We walked along country roads with bag and shovel. I scurried behind his long legged strides, mosey and muse along, then run with crooked gait bag on shoulder bouncing on bent back, to catch up with him. Tall and unaware of my many discoveries in his steady travels on foreign land.

I had the pleasure of introducing my love to the whole spectrum of vegetal tastes. Every time I pointed out to bushes which I wanted to transplant in our small garden spot, I was compelled to explain why we needed it, so I selected a tender leaf and he dutifully bit, or licked it gingerly. I would make accompanying grimaces, bitter, rougher, sweeter...and he would laugh and spit the chewed up offenders. I swallowed mine, as I knew them to be, well, good for me.

In the course of transplanting Jerusalem artichokes and watching them grow tall and plentiful, we learned how common interest can expand a relationship. No, my husband did not suddenly feel the urge to turn compost or dig a large plot to ensure the care and feeding of our small family.

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