Inadvertently, I pulled up a stunted azalea from the sandy circle at the center of the driveway. I’d planted it over a year ago, and not only had it failed to keep up in height and growth, it hadn’t produced a single bloom. Spring isn’t quite here yet, though the weather is trying, and its vibrant leaves seemed to say that even without growth, it believed in itself.
But did I?
With one shovel dig, I sliced through the sand like butter. At the base, where the sand met its trunk, I pulled it up like a rabbit by the ears and carried it over to a patch of grass. I turned on the hose.
Right away, it was obvious: the roots were bound tight, hard as knuckles. I didn’t know exactly what was wrong, but the lack of movement — the constriction — had to be part of the problem.
An hour later — yes, an hour — I had unmatted the frizzed roots, teased them out like a fro in a barbershop, and leaned back in exhaustion. The focus it took. The patience. The steady massaging and pulling out hardened chunks of bark and debris. Reassuring the little guy, I had its best interests at heart and we’d get through this together.
Now he or she is tucked into cool, rich soil, with every chance to express itself however it chooses.
What a great day.
Especially the part where Evelyn had her T-ball tryouts. You should’ve seen all those five- to seven-year-olds acting wild on that field. Half were getting instructions, while the other half — unsupervised in the outfield — started throwing their gloves at each other and were about one step away from reenacting Lord of the Flies.
Dave and I met a new friend, too. Even better, she started a Cub/Girl Scouts group in January that meets every other Thursday just half a mile down the road. Even cuter: before practice started, Evelyn was already playing with her daughter. She later told Katie (the mom) she’d met a new friend — “a girl whose name I didn’t get, but she doesn’t have any front teeth.”
Yep. Sounds like Evelyn.
To top off the day, I popped an extra-large saucepan of kettle corn. As much as I mildly panic midway through cooking it (sugar + heat + kernels sitting too long = burn), I’ve been batting about .850 this week. Is it three times in the past three days I’ve made this crunchy nighttime snack? I believe so.
I ran my personal-best 5K of the year, and whatever sliver of joy I should be giving myself, I’m saving the celebration for later. I can do better, and I know I will. So I’ll keep pushing. Keep doing my thing.
I’m still the only member in the running group I created for our town. Strava had nearby cities with groups I could’ve joined, but that’s not what I want. I want to meet people. I want to grow a community here.
So here’s hoping someday someone joins me.
Until then, I’ll let my tennis shoes do the talking to the pavement.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 