Hope

Today I spent a few hours outside potting plants and pulling weeds.  Every spring I plant annuals in the hanging baskets and help my husband plant vegetables in large pots for the front deck.  We have so many huge old trees around that the sunniest place is our west-facing front deck.  It's pleasant to sit there in the summer twilight and watch the stars pop out while inhaling the scent of tomato plants and flowers.  Even those years when we just weren't feeling like it we planted flowers and vegetables.  Some years we get some tomatoes, a small eggplant or two, a couple of bell peppers and some zucchini from our deck garden, and some years we don't.  I think it's a sign of hope to do that.  Above my kitchen sink is a wood carving that says "HOPE".  There's always hope, I've found.  I like having hope around.  I've tried hanging out with hopelessness and despair; they are not good company at all.  They are energy sucking companions who keep you spiraling downward.  Hope sits quietly by your side, encouraging you to keep putting one foot in front of the other, take one breath at a time until you feel your feet under you again.  I don't know if our plants will bear fruit this year or just decorate our seating area, and I don't know if the annuals I chose will survive the "death valley" conditions their locations get in July, but we'll keep watering them and hoping.