I killed my carrots. Every single one of them.
It is a principal of gardening that you scatter tiny vegetable seeds in the spring, watch to see how many germinate and come to life, and then...
...murder half of them.
It is only through thinning out half the seedlings that the others have room to live. Carrot seeds are so small that it is almost impossible to plant them individually. If I didn't just scatter the tiny seeds, I might not spend the effort to plant them at all, to bring them to life.
We can even eat all our thinnings. How different is that from bringing produce to adulthood just to nourish us? Facilitating life and managing death purely to nourish ourselves is what annual vegetable gardening is all about. I have absolutely no moral qualms about snuffing the life of produce.
Or do I? Those poor carrot seedlings, so dainty and so slow to germinate.... I left them too long without thinning them, hoping for them to become strong enough to make it to adulthood. I just could not thin them. "Thin" them--what a pathetic word to convey the taking of life prematurely. (Good grief. Taking the life MATURELY doesn't bother me.)
So the carrots strangled themselves, wrapping themselves in each other's roots, unable to spread out.
* * *
Today's lesson from the garden:
There are times we have to make choices in order to move forward.
When I was 18yo, everything seemed open to me.
Each step I made toward one future simultaneously closed the door to another.
Soon, I had limited my options. Things that had been possible before were no longer there.
It is exactly through those limitations that we move further into the light, into life.