Rooted 3/1/25

If anyone asks me how I am, my first answer is to give them an update on my peas. While my boss passes around new grand-baby pictures, I force my co-workers to behold my army of three inch stumps only just developing their first leaves. I’m growing other vegetables too but my peas are the first to rise. An impulse buy, I chose their variety specifically because they are so prolific. Homed in my tiny indoor greenhouse, that fits nowhere else than our bathroom, the first thing I do each morning is rush downstairs to see how they’ve grown, their little green fists rising out of the soil like an army of undead. 

I’ve never grown anything before and therefore am learning mostly by google search. This brought me to two nights ago at 2 a.m. transplanting my peas. I had just found out pea plants need to be thinned to grow strong. Before their roots get too entwined it's important to separate them from any other plant growing too closely to ensure each plant gets enough nutrients. Worse yet, peas have notably weak roots that if harmed in the transition can easily cause the entire plant to die.

All this to say, I spent the night and the next work day spiraling about my peas. How would something so delicate survive such an aggressive upheaval? I have never done this before, what else was I doing wrong? Would I have to start over? I don’t think I’ll ever forget the feeling after election day walking about Meijer’s running the statistics. 50% of this store chose cheaper groceries over my community’s right to exist. 50% of this store would rather save an unborn baby than ensure a black toddler having access to medical care. 50% of this store chose fear and hate and simple non-answers over telling the world we wouldn’t stand for this shit anymore. My best friends were talking about leaving the country for their safety. My boyfriend was texting me contingency plans and asking if I had a passport. I left this city for years only to come back and fall in love here, build a community here, and regained a relationship with my mom here.

I know it isn’t the same as being at risk of being deported, or having access to life saving medications cut, or being a trans child in the south forced to de-transition but the world is big enough to hold all of our grief. I too felt my roots being ripped out from under me just as I was getting my first leaves. I too felt the pain of those close to me being at risk of being taken away. I too wondered if I would ever come back from this or if I would again need to start all over.

Spoiler alert: My peas survived.