when planted it will grow

Remember two months ago when I stubbed my toe and was all, ouch, feel sorry for me? I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to take another picture to show you just how black and gross it still was. Pull out a little of that initial sympathy for me because today when I visited the podiatrist he decided that the nail was dead and that he should probably pull it off. Oh yeah. Nothing warms my heart like words that let me know that someone is going to cause pain to my feet. So here I sit with nine (and a nub) toenails. It’s a hot look.

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My mom and I stopped by a Whole Foods Market this afternoon for a look around, some flax seed, and dinner. We have been in the store before and were nothing short of impressed by the sight and smells in their deli section. Have you been there? It’s like a million things that look yummy and yet are also organic and probably very healthy. We decided on some grilled vegetable pizza and I have never felt so healthy after a pizza dinner. Here’s the thing, though. I’m not sure how much I buy into the whole organic, natural, free-range, additive free food stuff. I mean, in theory I think it sounds like a good way to live. Natural. Fresh. But is organic cilantro worth paying four times as much for a bundle? What does the organic-ness do for me? Do the health benefits warrant the money? I often fall back on that old, “well, I wasn’t raised on that, and neither were my parents, or their parents, and we all turned out just fine,” thing. And I know that more and more chemicals and artificial flavor/color/texture are added to food than thirty years ago. The other part of this dilemma is that part of me wants to be that kind of person. I want to make healthy choices and put only good food in my body. And yet, I just can’t make myself pay that extra money. I’m a Whole Foods critic/wanna-be. It’s an interesting mix.

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We’ve started our square foot gardens (spurred primarily by Ann’s garden of amazingness) and are eager for spring weather to really arrive so we can put all the more sensitive vegetables out. Pictures and more information will follow. Somebody is a master gardener. Seeds that he plants sprout up in no-time under his tender care. He speaks sweet-nothings to the tiny buds, scoops in the perfect amount of water, takes care to give them the right amount of sunlight, and in all ways makes their survival a priority. I think he must check on their progress at least a dozen times each day. Master. Gardener. How lucky am I that he approaches his relationship with me in much the same kind, attentive, selfless way? Oh, yeah. Me and the plants are thriving under his care.