Garden Thoughts Bloom In The Bleak Mid-Winter

Although it’s pretty darned wintry here at R&S HQ, we thought we’d share a poem that anticipates a greener season.

Enjoy “Gardens” by R&S subscriber Casey Crosby.


My grandparents still remember my name

but they forgot about their gardens. I think

of how years ago they would harvest peas

and rhubarb and tomatoes and sometimes squash,

paid me a quarter if I picked enough blueberries.

I’d wrap seeds in paper napkins, cradle each

hypogenous promise.

I still don’t really understand photosynthesis, but

they showed me to care for both the green things

and the brown things, that these families, fabaceae,

umbelliferae, solanaceae, they’re ours too,

that my veins are also vines and I am breathing

in both dust and glory.

Their land has been uncultivated for some time

now, but I remember blossoms, rhizomes, yes.

I think it’s true that we come from dirt.

Casey Crosby is a sophomore English major at Whitworth University in Spokane, Washington. She’s a proud Oregon native and lover of mountains and trees. If she’s not reading or writing, you can probably find her in a coffee shop, a thrift store, or settling in for another Netflix marathon.

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