Sometimes, that Spring garden inspiration is hard to come by. If you think about it, you’re starting seeds when there’s still snow on the ground and the winds are still bringing in frigid air from the north. And at least in my neck of the woods, Spring often means a lot of rain once it gets a little warmer. Basically, there’s a lot of mud, slush, and conditions that make it hard to think about gardening.
That’s why today’s story stood out to me. In Another Spring Day, Richard Cox has tapped into the idea that Spring garden inspiration is a fleeting, fickle thing. Even on those warmer spring days, gardening is an act of faith that the future will bring you fresh vegetables and colorful flowers. Meanwhile, there are plenty of temptations that offer immediate satisfaction. In Richard’s case, that temptation is the joy of watching a baseball game.
“Crack! sang the bat as the ball—now a mere white speck—sailed over the 360-foot sign in left center field. What a great swing.” And if that’s not enough, Richard “walked over to the snack truck parked along the first baseline fence, filled a jumbo hotdog to overflowing with mustard and chopped onions, and hopped back up on the bleachers.”
But what about those seed packets and potting soil sitting at home on the workbench? I’ll leave that part for Richard to share in the story below.
These Stories Show That Your Spring Garden Inspiration Can Come From the Strangest of Places.
This story comes from our archive spanning over 30 years, and includes more than 130 magazine issues of GreenPrints. Pieces like these that imbue the joy of gardening into everyday life lessons always brighten up my day, and I hope it does for you as well. Enjoy!
Another Spring Day
To watch baseball? Or start my seeds?
By Richard Cox
Crack! sang the bat as the ball—now a mere white speck—sailed over the 360-foot sign in left center field. What a great swing. The kid sure could play ball.
Little knots of spectators were scattered throughout the bleachers, chattering among themselves, enjoying the warm sunshine and the colorful spectacle taking place right in front of them. It was a beautiful Spring day. Everything was green and lush and fresh. The buds on the trees were just starting to unfold: you could peek inside and see tiny leaves just waiting to burst out.
I had been walking through Golden Gate Park when I wandered over to the baseball diamond and decided to sit awhile in the bleachers. Leo’s Bar and Grill, in blue-and-white uniforms, was at bat and Janie‘s Deli, in old New York Yankee pinstripes, was in the field. The limed outline of the batters box was almost invisible, so it had to be around the fifth inning or so.
I walked over to the snack truck parked along the first baseline fence, filled a jumbo hotdog to overflowing with mustard and chopped onions, and hopped back up on the bleachers.
When I had left the house that morning, my seed packets were still on the workbench, along with the potting soil and the seed flats—all patiently waiting for me. I had pretty much decided not to start seeds this year, between the drought and all the hard work of starting seeds in six-packs, raising them, and then transplanting seedlings into the cut flower garden.
The thwop of the ball hitting the catcher’s glove brought me back to the game. I glanced out to left field beyond the pitcher’s mound and marveled at what gorgeous shades of green ran all together through the grass and the rich, chocolate-brown color of the loose dirt in the base paths. The shortstop was deep in the hole, a coiled spring bent at the waist with his glove just brushing the dirt, yelling his litany—“No hitter in there, pitch, no hitter in there, pitch“—ready, ready to pounce on any grounder that came screaming at him.
It’s funny how certain sights and sounds can conjure up childhood memories. I remember playing baseball when I was 12 or 13 and how just knowing that Big League Spring training was beginning would start a special feeling washing over me—a feeling so real that you could almost poke yourself anywhere and touch it. A feeling that you could do anything, make anything happen, that everything was fresh and new and you were starting all over again, and life was great and you couldn’t see any end to it—ever!
I thought about how many Springs I had enjoyed then. And now—how many more? How shall I enjoy them?
I dropped off the back of the bleachers, dropped my hotdog napkin in the trash can, and headed home. To my waiting seeds. ❖
By Richard Cox, published originally in 2019, in GreenPrints Issue #117. Illustrated by Russell Thornton
Where do you find inspiration for your garden when there are so many distractions and temptations?
