Each day I face a dilemma sometime between the hours of 11:30 and 1:00. Lunch. There are days when I practically itch to get out of the house; on those weekdays, I use lunch as a significant motivator to finish projects in the morning and as a way to gain steam for the afternoon. We’ve adopted several out-to-eat lunch routines that include walking down Burnside to eat at AND Cafe or hopping over to Bollywood Theater on Division.
When Danny Gabriner first began baking bread, he gave away 1,000 loaves for free. Over the course of six months in 2009, hundreds of neighbors, friends, fellow bakers, bloggers, and businesses received a loaf of Gabriner’s bread, baked in a style he affectionately (yet perfunctorily) calls “regular bread”. For those six months, Gabriner pushed himself much like an apprentice in woodworking or metal-craft might, striving to thrive in the daily repetitiveness while he fine-tuned his methods and furthered his global understanding of bread making.
In my two-ish seasons of planting last year, I never found a balance between the whimsical and poetic dreams of my aspirational garden, and the realities of planning and structure. In truth, I struggle with finding this balance in all creative fields, not just gardening: I assume that structure will inhibit creativity and turn my work into something automatic or bland. I also tend to rush the creaky and often cranky creative process along, in gardening and work, perpetually more goal-oriented than process-based. If the goal is perfectly plump Brandywine tomatoes, well then, let’s get there already. If the goal is a field of wildflowers in the backyard, why then, are they not blooming yet? I viscerally yearn for green and lush flowers and vegetables, my camera at the ready. It’s early February now, and as I stare out the window, I can easily picture the muddy ground, the brown mushy garden plots, the hibernating plants changing into something lush and beautiful before my eyes.