So we built a plastic house. What now?
Trays? Check. Soil? Check. With great care and expectation, we began to sow seeds of kale, swiss chard, arugula. We planted cucumber and watermelon and habanero peppers. We built shelves and filled every square inch of the place with biological potential. And it felt good. I would have been happy just to see dirt-filled boxes covering the surfaces of our plastic house.
And then one morning, just a few days later, everything changed. The first little leaf of an African okra plant poked its head out of the loam and for me, it was all different. No longer was this a finite accomplishment. We didn’t just build a building and then walk away, waiting for life to knock it down. We created something: a refuge, a sanctuary in which we actually sprouted something new.
Since that moment, I now enter the greenhouse every morning like the giddiest child on the snowiest Christmas morning. Every day: new sprouts, new growth, new life. One morning, I persisted through the impossibly humid microclimate inside our greenhouse for hours and watched as every single cucumber broke through the soil and unfurled its light green leaves. I sat and I watched like a proud mama and I knew that feeling of joy, of accomplishment, would not soon be forgotten. And through my own achievement, I am sustained, I am inspired, I am challenged further. Always moving, upward and onward.
Ps. Due to the success (and limited space) of the initial greenhouse, Tylre Bigbie and I have designed a hoophouse which will be built during our next week in the jungle. We look forward to continued growth and success (and lots more late-night greenhouse dance parties).
