meet the plants

Dirt. I love it dearly. Getting it under my fingernails, into my skin, through my jeans. There is something deeply personal about the smell of dirt - a nourishment and excitement.

I have always tried to keep plants nearby. When I haven't had rows on rows of corn to sucker or a backyard to weed, I've kept plants in pots dotted around. Here in our tiny space it's a little harder. While I have theoretical access to thousands of plants (if money were no object), we just don't have the space. However, with morning sunshine, bright windowsills, and re-used glass jars, I've lined up an arsenal of herbs. If they're going to stick around, they'll earn their keep.

We've grown quite attached to them and named them after characters from Shakespeare's Hamlet hoping that they would not follow their namesake's example of dying off after two hours.

While there have been a couple close calls (especially Laertes and Polonious, our basil plants), they've done quite alright. This is certainly due in part to the beautiful and highly a-typical weather these past months, but I'd like to think that it also has a little bit to do with our taking care of them well.