I’ve been trying to grow zucchini by seed. It’s the easiest seed to sprout and will result in a glut of marrows given the chance. ‘Sow direct’ the instructions on the packet said. So I did.
The tomato, kale, capsicum and chilli sprouted in potting mix on the kitchen windowsill. The peas, beans, potatoes, pumpkins and corn in the garden all came up. No zucchini.
Once a week I catch up with my Uni Mates on Zoom. We are all at different stages of our projects and chat about our progress and thinking since we last spoke. The conversation ranges from the menial moaning about seeds not sprouting (me) to thinking styles implemented to write an exegesis and discussions of concepts like cultivating desire—inspired by writer and academic Antonia Pont.
As we took turns adding to the conversation, it grew dark at my house. I commented ‘looks like a storm is coming. Typical, seeing as I just watered the garden!’. We all laughed. Last week there was torrential rain and flooding for Nth Queensland, dry heat for Alice Springs, and a similar dry heat across the state from me for The Wimmera. I love we are from such diverse places.
The power flicked and Zoom froze. The Wimmera was in the middle of exploring the thinking required to blend a creative artefact with an exegesis. I was engrossed, the ideas were building to a concept. Staring at the frozen faces on my charged laptop confused me. No concept!
Then it hit. The front that had been moving across Melbourne made it to Gippsland. The shade umbrella outside my window took flight. I yelled for Hubby and limped to the door—my broken toe is another story for another time. Hubby was rescuing our neighbour’s bin so Son came running and together we wrestled the now frantic flight-driven beast into submission.
I watched the lightning, wind and rain from the window and hoped that my newly planted garden would be okay.
The next day, while at work, Hubby sent me this photo.
The storm had somehow signalled to the zucchini that now was the time to sprout. No amount of kindness on my part had made any difference.
I wanted to be pleased that they were up but I all I felt was bitterness. I had lost sleep trying to figure out why these easy seeds were not proving easy for me!
The cliché parable is this: storms bring out the best in us. They cause new parts of us to grow. They do something for us that kindness cannot do.
Rubbish.
Sure. Some storms might to do that but others are too big, too destructive. The seeds don’t sprout. Maybe they get washed away or are replaced by new seeds. Weeds spring up.
Nonetheless, there is something there.
We think we are in control but we aren’t.
Isn’t this the lesson of COVID? Of delta? Of omicron?
I’ve been reading Viator E. Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning (the 2020 edition). In a chapter adapted from a lecture given in 1985, Frankl talks about ‘tragic optimism’ (p. 181) saying ‘what matters is to make the best of any given situation’ (p. 182). For those unfamiliar with Frankl, the earlier sections of his book retell his imprisonment in Concentration Camps and his survival as a victim of the Holocaust.
Frankl speaks of tragic optimism as
optimism in the face of tragedy and in view of the human potential which at its best always allows for: (1) turning suffering into a human achievement and accomplishment; (2) deriving from guilt the opportunity to change oneself for the better; and (3) deriving from life’s transitoriness an incentive to take responsible action (p. 182).
Zucchini seed not sprouting is hardly tragic. Neither is a sudden storm that seemed to do what I could not. But life is transitory and now that the seeds have sprouted, it is my responsibility to tend them as best as I can.
Come the end of summer, I will be asking ‘Zucchini slice, anyone?’.
This Writer's Life 