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Friday, May 31, 2013

splint


I brought our jalapeno plant home from Superstore already over a foot tall, ensconced in a plastic planter with a built-on cage. It was ten o'clock at night; we'd been running errands all day; I had to work in the morning. In the dark and in my rush to get the pepper and the four new tomatoes into the ground immediately, I snapped the crisp fifteen-dollar main stem on the jalapeno while I was trying to wrestle it out of the plastic pot. I swore. I ran inside for scissors and tape. I scrounged a stake from the pile of scrap wood on the other side of the fence. I made a splint and set the bone.

That was two weeks ago, and the plan is still alive, flowering like all get out. It is amazing how similar all things are. How a plant stem can heal like a femur, while the heart surgeon is essentially a plumber of tiny pipes. How, on their respective ends of the pH scale, baking soda and vinegar apply themselves to issues from the tweaking of lentil curry, to the removal of a stain to the treatment of a mosquito bite, to the fertilization of a plant, to the banishing of pimples, to the removal of mineral residue. How the cooking--the making-edible--of food foreshadows the metabolic process. (How I find plant metaphors almost all-sufficient.)

1 comment:

  1. hmmmm I love this about nature too. how a tree remembers its history past as rings about its trunk and so we do in skin and soul as we age and reflect xx

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