Planting Time

Life has a way of thwapping me upside the head from time to time in its efforts to remind me to slow down and focus my full attention on the task at hand.  Put another way, I don't think my brain is nimble enough to multi-task.  At least, not around this place.

 Earlier this week I got home from school and rushed outside to plant flower and  vegetable seeds before it got dark.  My mind was consumed by a jumble of school thoughts as I set up at the picnic table: big bag of potting soil, seeds, plastic pots and trays and a watering can. I reached into the bag and scooped soil into each pot, then patted everything down and lined them up on the trays.  With barely a thought on what I was doing, I indented the soil in each pot with my finger, dropped in a seed or two and firmed them in. 

It was only when I began watering them that something determinedly wiggling from the center of one of the pots caught my eye.  I leaned closer and closer as I tried to figure out what this skinny, yellowy-green thing was, poking up and waving at me.  And then, just as the horrible realization hit that the thing was a creature's leg, a small, extremely pissed off Pacific Tree Frog burst from the earth like Lazarus from the tomb. 

Froggy long gone by the time I got out my camera

Yes. I'd planted a frog (upsidedown, as it turned out).  As he huffed across the table, shedding a tiny trail of dirt, I did the only thing I could think of -- picked up the watering can and sprinkled him.  I don't think that this was appreciated.  However, I do believe that both the frog who had been snoozing in the bag and the teacher who had been obessing about school were both suddenly very much in the present moment.

Frogpond Zen -- not subtle.