If I were a sweet potato I’d rather fall into the hands of someone who forgot to eat me than one who remembered. When I forgot my sweet potato and found it sprouting I cut it in half and put the more sprouted end into a glass of water. Then when it began to leaf out I planted it in a big pot on the patio with last year’s mini-Christmas tree, the one that refused to keep its shape and went wild. It could never be mistaken for a Christmas tree now with its needles long and bushy and its branches reaching randomly up to the sky. The freedom to do what it pleases has gone to its head, but there was a bare spot beside it in the pot so that’s where the sprouting, leafing sweet potato went. Now the sweet potato vine has lost its head too and you should see how it’s grown! Huge leaves reaching up and hanging down and trying desperately to keep up with ex-Christmas tree Pot-Mate.
That’s the fun of pot gardens, at least mine. I don’t care what the plants do as long as they’re happy. And if a volunteer something or other finds a spot I let it grow, providing it has blossoms or pretty leaves. There’s a darling little blue blossomed thingy that is spreading out as if it knows it's something special. It is. I didn’t plant it. Probably some bird did. I love it! It found a home next to a miniature rose that looked like it was on its last legs. Now that rose is sporting a red tiny bud on a tall stem. All it needed was company.
I have a feeling that gardens are much like their keepers. Like my garden, I too like life to be somewhat unpredictable. Unpredictable pleasures, like bringing Tommy, my red canary, out this morning to enjoy the sunshine and fresh air with the pots, plants and me. He’s showing his delight by singing for the whole neighborhood, though no one seems to be at home. He doesn’t care. He just sings!
I feel so lucky to be a non-working refugee from the usual end, at least for now. I can join my wild ones here on the patio and revel in the beauty of a perfect day. Time is forgotten. My plants, my birdie and I don’t fool ourselves. We know we’re not so wild as to escape the pots, the cage, and the patio’s paved floor. But we can see far. We can spread our tendrils and voices to joy and gladness. We can be as kooky as we like, but we’re really sane as sages. We just enjoy our home, stay within its perimeters, and let our senses soar.
Along with the Sweet Potato Vine and Tommy Bird I’m enjoying this unpredictable life of ours. Getting older is getting better, and it sure beats the alternative! But maybe even that will have its unpredictable joys. If so, we’ll be right there to claim them!