Archive Tag:witches

Drabble 98 – Urticate

nettle by Leah Oswald

I grew up on an island surrounded by plants that stung and stuck to my clothes and tore scratches into my arms. I spent hours combing burs out of my cats’ fur, piling them into neat little stacks. Everything snagged.

Next to my house was a big open field of grass and blackberries and mice and nettles. The thing I remember most about the nettles was that I never really saw them–I’d run through the field carelessly, not paying any mind to the plants that lived there, and come home with bumps and stinging welts that burned and refused to abate unless you rubbed the bottom of a fern on them.

I have a scar on my knee from where a blackberry bush tore the skin open. Blood welled up there, dark red and juicy. I touched it and put my finger in my mouth, thinking it was a crushed blackberry.

Now my hands are tough and leathery and I can reach into blackberry and rosebushes without fear of thorns. They’re peppered with pale scars and callouses, but I wouldn’t trade them and fear my garden again.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

Drabble 45 – Les Fleurs du Mal

Les Fleurs du Mal
Studio Ghibli never fails in the flower department.

I’ve always been a cold weather person, but suffering through March when I all I want to be doing is gardening is making me seriously question my hatred for summer.

I never had a green thumb growing up. I once killed several cacti. But now I love gardening, including all the hard, annoying parts, like digging the whole thing up to loosen the soil, fertilizing with nasty-smelling, ground-up detritus, and even weeding. There is nothing more satisfying than a freshly weeded garden.

Except it’s winter. In Washington. Everything is damp and mossy and lovely but also still too cold to grow most of the things I’d like to. I can appreciate not having to water my plants for a few months, but every day I stare out my window, longing to plan something in all the sad, wet dirt I’ve worked so hard to fortify. I took my backyard from a wild mess to something I am reasonably pleased with–that’s an achievement for a perfectionist, and I’ll never stop feeling triumphant for always having fresh herbs I grew myself on hand, nor for the one-foot tall rosebush that has since grown to be a sprawling giant that threatens guests with its long arms.

A couple more months, that’s all. In the meantime, here’s a drabble.