At times, a memory from a past experience wanders into my deep subconscious as I dream. For instance, one time as I awoke in the morning, I hear a crushing sound on the rocks in my mom's backyard garden. The times I spent looking for her to pick a call or called her on the road only to realize she was in her garden.
crush. crush. The splash of a bucket into another bucket. The pouring of water.
The smell of wet soil and sink water submerged in kitchen refuse and other strange materials like soy grounds from making soy milk or water after peeling shrimp.
Her garden abounds in produce, from spiny English cucumbers, yellow green zucchinis, and crunchy green beans.
No wonder I get nauseated when I encounter frozen or processed foods. As Marvin and Tammy sang in 1968, 'ain't nothin' like the real thing...' You can't beat home grown and hand picked veggies. Especially that sound of them stir fried with olive oil and minced garlic in mom's wok.
I suppose I am fortunate to have a green thumb mom, who balances work during the day and tending her garden at night.
At times, I wonder if I have the patience and persistence to 'cultivate' my own garden. Orange and persimmon trees in the back and a lemon tree in the front. To be surrounded by fruits and veggies yet living in a suburban landscape devoid of fauna and flora, except maybe the occassional shade tree or runover rodent. Take your pick, raccoon, skunk, squirrel.
They scurry just to get by on the fence or to cross the road, only to realize that the evening commute is on as they face the onslaught of mid size luxury cars and oversized SUVs.
I wonder who weeps and mourns for these lost ones. Rather than stare and feel remorse, who takes the initiative and removes the carcasses and ensures that they have a resting place for their tattered and ruined bodies? It brings great sadness in my heart when I see a runover stray cat or a indigent crossing a railroad track. Perhaps at one time they were a part of a family once. But now things have changed.
Life is difficult and hard. But I know there is time for everything under the sun as the Good Book says. Time to live, a time to die. A time for everything.
So let it be written...
