The Greenhouse

I had tilled this dirt.

I had laid the barrier;

had measured, cut & meticulously placed the thin sheet under each 2x4, stapled it taut enough - but not too taut - to keep weeds out.

It was late morning.

I poured some coffee in that white, familiar mug, & walked outside into the windy morn.

I made my way towards the greenhouse; past the dog kennel, & the bird cage.

The barrier sheet was torn, openly waving with the wind . The four pieces of wood I’d used as a frame were all that were left as evidence that, not too long ago, a little greenhouse had stood atop of it, eagerly waiting to serve its purpose in our lives.

The little dream within a dream was clear at one point. I’d create a little walkway right down the middle with some repurposed red brick &, in the rest, i’d put down some river rock before bringing in my $20 table from Marketplace, where I’d put my plants.

It was a small space but I figured I’d put a little accent chair in one corner & an end table where I’d come into in the morning, read the bible, pray & drink my coffee slowly & quietly.

It had all started because of my Alocasia plant.

I got her in 2019 when my long-term ex & I had lived together.

She was small but so lovely - & as I slept on the floor of that apartment before leaving it after he moved out, she was there.

I had to move her into a storage unit & she stayed there;

in the dark, unwatered, uncared for, abandoned & slowly withering down to almost nothing - just like me.

I felt so utterly broken during that time, but…… she waited.

When I was finally able to move into my own apartment months later, I looked at her & wondered if I’d be able to love her back to life.

She was but a round bud, barely any life in her by then.

But she blossomed.

There at my bedside, near a window, we both clung to sunlight & life.  As I slowly began to put myself back together, I blossomed too.  I began to smile, then laugh and dance.  Both she & I went from darkness to light. The more I saw her grow, the more I saw me grow too.

Late last year, when my then boyfriend asked me to move in, I had refused to move anywhere new if she couldn’t come with me.

She had become a mirror - a living, breathing example of the hardships we’d overcome.

So, I began to build her a greenhouse.

A place, I thought, just for her where she’d be protected from the elements; where I could tend to her as she had tended to my hope many a-nights.

So I framed & tilled the ground tirelessly, pouring sweat into that soil & making sure that barrier would not let one sneaky little weed erupt into that sacred space.

I erected the walls; made sure they were sturdy enough & I hammered & drilled from mornings to afternoons, then afternoons to evenings.

I drove hours to get the right roofing panels, & somehow, with strategy, sweat & tears, I dragged it up onto the roof & nailed some more.

See, I wasn’t just building my Alocasia a home. She is, in a figurative sense (don’t think I’m crazy), me, & I was creating for her what I had wanted for someone else to create for me: a space where protection was the ultimate objective.

It was a little heartbreaking at times because my boyfriend at the time had promised to build it for me. That was his way of getting me to move in, but then when I did, it was clear that it was to be my project.  I felt such disillusionment & resentment around it because I just was not worthy - to him - of the protection, the care & safety he had assured me of.  But I have always been able to give that to others so, I picked up his tools, bought some of my own & tended to myself once more.

A familiar tale.

I did what I have always done: I began to build the haven that would protect with my own hands.  It’s tough to build that by yourself.  Truly, I have been my own protector many times. I have learned to love & cherish myself. I’ve learned to - with care - pull the weeds growing up into me, water myself & grow.  What’s tough is building that with someone that can’t show up & partner with you in those difficult moments.

I had to give up on the greenhouse.

I had to give up on that relationship.

One thing we’ve learned, my pretty girl & I, is that we both MUST be planted in rich soil.  We must be nurtured. We must be tended to.

If I am to continue to blossom, then I needed to give up, just not on me this time.