Mother’s Day: I Gave Away My Children

I’ll start by saying that I had a lovely Mother’s Day thanks in part to my three terrific kids, all grown. Though two are away, I received wondrous moments of love from all: texts throughout the day, a living arrangement of plants delivered to my door, chocolate-chip cookies from my favorite bakery that quietly appeared on my desk. Lots of hugs from the one who’s home and fun videos, photos, messages, and calls from the ones who are away. I love my adult kids, and it’s really nice to know they like me, too.

But that’s not what this post is about. It’s about a chance I took on seeming ridiculous and the unexpected result of taking that chance. 

First, I did do something ridiculous. In the dark months of January and February, nearly one year into the pandemic, amid the swirl of news stories about the virus variants that were spreading like California wildfires and the vaccines that were still months away—I planted way too many seeds on the grow rack in my basement. Yes, I’m one of those pandemic gardeners (there are worse things on earth) who took up gardening as if in a state of bacchanalian mania. I started planting things in 2020, had a beginner’s year filled with some successes and a lot of failures, and then returned in 2021 (What? The pandemic is still going on???) with just enough experience under my belt to make even more mistakes.

And the biggest mistake I made was planting way too much. Don’t judge me! The seeds are so little. How can plants even grow out of them (impossible!), let alone become too big to fit in my limited garden beds (inconceivable!)? And yet…

Plants do grow, and I had some hella crazy germination rates. Really, I don’t think this was normal.

In any case, I planted all my beds and planted twenty large pots and gave away a lot of seedlings to my sister, friends, next door neighbors, and writers group. And still. I had hundreds of extra seedlings: tomatoes, peppers, basil, eggplant, zinnias, sage, cucumbers. And that doesn’t even include the hundreds of flower seedlings on my back porch that need to be planted in my front beds once the weather gets warmer.

What to do? I couldn’t throw out these beautiful plants.

Look, it would be a lie to say that the seedlings were like my children—not even close—but I did germinate them and then tend to them twice a day for months. Lately, I’ve been carrying them in and out of the house to gently introduce them to the great big world. Okay, they’re kind of like my babies. 

But it was time to plant them in the ground. And I had no more ground to give. Plus, everyone I knew had already taken what they wanted. 

So, I decided to give them away. Early in the morning (7 am) on Mother’s Day, I set all of them out on my front lawn and invited the world to take them.

And take them they did. While I was still carrying plants out, a man drove by, stopped, and stepped out of his car with his four-year-old son, George. It turns out they were new to the neighborhood. George was silent but intrigued. He wore a tiger face mask. His father, Gregg, asked him quietly which of the plants he wanted, and he chose each one carefully, keeping a wary eye on me. The father and I were not wearing masks; we were outside and more than ten feet apart, plus I’m fully vaccinated. I couldn’t help but notice how nice it was to meet strangers and talk. And see their faces.

Another woman who was out walking stopped by. Her name was Rachael and she lived one street over. She confessed that she had tried gardening twice, but “failed” each time. Her voice was rueful. This led to a walking tour of the few raised beds I have on the side of the house. She asked for advice. I told her I was nearly as new to this as she was, but I also told her what I knew. She said, “I’m going to do this. I’m going to see it through. I’ve always wanted to do this.” She took a boxful of plants.

A woman with a lovely Old World accent came by pushing her four-week-old grandson in a stroller. She had gardened a lot in the country of her birth but had moved recently to help take care of the baby. She would love to start a garden here, but had no way to carry the plants home. Rachael, who was still selecting her own plants, offered to drive some plants to the woman’s house. They had never met before. Off they went. 

People came and they came and they came. A young man who used to work on a farm and was out walking with his dad. A runner who jogged by and instagrammed my yard. A 91-year-old man who had spent his whole life gardening but now was unable to walk more than a few feet. He and his daughter were on the way to his wife’s grave. (I live next to a cemetery. Cool, huh?) We spent twenty minutes slowly touring the garden. He asked me out on a date. (I declined.) In the end, he took an eggplant seedling and a basil plant. His daughter said she would transplant the eggplant to a container and place it on a table on the porch so that he could tend it without bending over.

All this to say, I had more conversations with more strangers than I’ve had in the last fourteen months. And it felt great. By the end, all the plants were gone, and I like to think of the fruit that will be borne in the coming months. But mostly I’m just grateful for living proof that when given the chance people still want to get together and chat, talk about something they love, and share a little bit of their lives with each other. It’s been so darn long. It was just a lovely day filled with little miracle moments of connecting. Happy Mother’s Day, all.