A well traveled bunch, these plants. Last May, I went to my alma mater's graduation with Katie Jay to catch a few of our graduating friends before they rocketed out across the United States. Added onto those festivities was time with Katie Jay's family.
A time of rest and quiet, getting over a stubborn illness, and dirt therapy. Imagine: all the weeds you could dream of, all available for picking. There are few things I find more emotionally stabilizing than getting my fingers in the dirt and tenderly coaxing weeds out from around baby lettuce plants. Or any plants for that matter.
As we left, mama Jenkins carefully wrapped a few plant cuttings in damp paper towel and a plastic bag and wished us safe travels. And, despite a two-night, three-day, sleep-in-airports-across-the-country adventure, they made it home. Every time I look they're taller, stronger, broader. More leaves, more green, more climbing tendrils.
I cherish the memories of quiet hospitality along with the ever-needed reminders of flourishing still existing in this almost-not-yet.