So I had mentioned before re-potting Ringo some time back and worrying that he might not survive the move. I should’ve been more worried about my mother’s arcane sense of gardening. I should pause to say that her role as a gardener is quite opposite in her role as a mother. Keep this in mind when I mention the knife.
I was worried about Ringo’s growth already due to my mother thumbing him with little care of his roots. Also, his pot is currently an aluminum pan and it doesn’t have any holes at the bottom. I know most planters have holes or a hole at the bottom to help with excess water (that’s probably not why but I feel like I should give you my explanation even if its not true. I feel confident about that answer and I’m sticking to it). At the kitchen sink, where Ringo lives by the window and my mother was doing the dishes, I mentioned this concern.
To my horror, my mom grabbed a cutco knife, grabbed Ringo and just stabbed at the underside of his pan. She didn’t even pretend to be gentle as she stabbed so hard that the knife poked up from the top soil and just barely missed Ringo’s leaves. Rather than scream bloody murder, I took a deep breath and said to myself well my mother, its obvious to see, is one for tough love.
If my little strawberry plant can survive and flourish after this rough treatment then it’s obvious he is a strong plant. I think life is like that too. Nothing is perfect, there is always something we have to do without, something we have to figure out, something that asks of us. Life is challenging, we can all agree. And I think we sometimes spend an enormous amount of time complaining about it, and wishing things were perfect.
But perfection is a myth and it’s a boring myth. If Ringo was perfect, if he grew perfect strawberries with no work between us, then I wouldn’t are as much as I do for him. Our relationship is based on us rooting for each other. In fiction, true friendships form over the journey. Think The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings. Perfection wouldn’t have brought these friendships–friends grow on tough love. That is, a good friendship is tough, it weathers droughts, over watered soil, mindless gardeners.
This blog post was simply supposed to be about Ringo and my mother wielding a knife at him, but the more I think about my strawberry plant, the more I have been thinking about Scions of Magic, especially Peter and the friend he’ll be meeting. This friendship will be a compass, a tent, a morsel of food. Love will grow without bounds. I am still in the process of writing this piece and I hope that these two characters can weather the journey ahead of them.
jaedawson 