Freezing under gray German

skies in March, 2000 despite the valiant efforts of daffodils, hyacinths

and forsythia to make it spring, my thoughts often turned wistfully toward

home.

I was missing the explosion

of flowering trees that announces springtime in north Georgia. My gardening

friends were already cutting lettuce and spinach and turnip greens.

Because I knew I'd be gone

for most of last year's growing season, I didn't even turn over the soil,

much less plant a seed. That skipped garden, the first in all the springtimes

of my adult life, made working this year's all the more evocative.

There's a lot of time to reflect

as arms and back and legs strain together to open the earth and work it

soft enough for the first leaves to push through to the sun. And when

my daily inspection is at last rewarded by the sight of seedlings emerging,

my memories go