I used to love to garden. Back when I lived in dorms and treehouses and apartments, I kept houseplants and windowsill herbs. I worked in community gardens and other people's gardens. And then we got our very own house and our very own, lots and lots of, land, and suddenly gardening didn't seem all that appealing to me anymore. At first I blamed the baby. And then the other two babies. But recently I saw a neighbor rototilling with a baby on her back, so that excuse doesn't hold water. Also, those babies aren't really all that babyish anymore. Certainly no impediment in the garden. So I don't know what it is—the busy-ness of May, with three birthdays and baseball season and stuff. The bugs? The overwhelming sensation of "where to start?" on 20 acres? a preference for wild plants and wandering? Sheer laziness?
Whatever it is, I found myself getting back to my windowsill gardening roots last spring when I planted a parsley plant in a little orange pot. It did so well, even while we were gone over the summer, I decided to start a couple more herbs—the ones I always wish I had fresh but never do (basil and cilantro). I don't know if either of them does well as a potted plant, indoors, in the winter, but I'm giving it a try.
Right now they're in the sun room, hopefully getting ready to sprout, but after the holiday decorations come down, I'll move them to the kitchen window, where I can snip off bits of tasty herbs whenever needed. (Maybe that's what I don't like about gardening…the very long walk through the house, down the stairs and around back to collect my vegetables. Maybe it's time for indoor hydroponics).