I’m scared. It’s just past midnight, and I need to be up at 5:00 a.m., but I can’t snooze yet. Instead I just lay here, holding on to the Hazel pup and thinking about the pea seeds and the long, skinny pieces of wood for stakes. I think about making little hills for them and making the tee-pee trellis, and I’m terrified that I’m gonna fail. That no peas are gonna come out of this, that I’m gonna be terrible at growing things and feeding my family. That I’m gonna end up wasting these carefully cultivated, saved, and preserved heirloom pea pods.
I’m so afraid, at midnight, that I’ve made a disaster of a choice and that we’re gonna end up having to move back to the city where I can hide indoors and never come out, where I stay sick and frail and miserable.
I have to plant these peas this week. I’m terrified.
I’m gonna plant them.