Breaking Ground

I planted seeds at the beginning of spring. I tucked them into the dirt like they were tiny buried treasures, bathed them in sunlight, watered them, and spoiled them with fertilizer and compost. Weeks later? Still nothing. Just patches of dirt staring back at me.

Thankless dirt.

Then, finally, after weeks of borderline obsessive tending, pep talks, and moments of existential crisis—green buds broke ground.

Success!

The little leaves whispered promises of a future filled with squash jungles and tomato empires. I was already planning my summer Instagram posts: #GardenQueen 

But then came the night. And with it, crickets. Hungry, unrelenting crickets who treated my precious buds like an all-you-can-eat buffet. By morning, my once-promising garden was back to its original state: dirt.

This is spring. A season of pouring your heart, soul, and weekends into new ideas, only for nature—or life—to hit you with a “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Spring is not the time of fruit or harvest.

It’s the time of awkward, optimistic beginnings. The time we idolize because of cute flowers and pastel vibes. We love the longer daylight hours, but we whine about the chilly mornings and the rain that seems to show up whenever we don’t have an umbrella.

But here’s the thing—no rain, no flowers, no fruit, no fall harvest. Spring is the Earth’s clumsy way of saying, “I’m working on it, okay?!” And we just take its blooms for granted.

Right now, I’m in the spring of several areas of my life. I’m putting in the work—watering, fertilizing, dreaming of the day I get to enjoy my metaphorical fruit. But for now, my buds are just breaking ground, and the crickets of life are out there sharpening their mandibles.

Looks like it’s time to build my cricket-proof fence.