Secret Garden

I have always wanted a garden.  I love the romantic notion of living off the land.  I blame this on my obsession with Little House on the Prairie as a little girl.  They survived harsh winters and were able to survive with very little.  I live in Burbank, not exactly the Prairie.  The wildlife in my yard consists of a few squirrels and my 11 year old terrier mutt.

The yard is an overgrown adventure.  I'm a terrible suburbanite and  can't identify most flowers and plants.   Basically, unless it produces a fruit, I have no idea what it is, with the exception of the large old Magnolia out back.  It produces those distinct flowers and appears to be a squirrel condo.  

I was so pleased the other day when I looked up at in a tree and found this thing of beauty.  I quickly took the avocado from the tree.  Honestly, I was a bit surprised that the local squirrel community had left this for me.  Maybe it was their version of a housewarming gift; look at this one item we didn't halfway gnaw through.

I experienced a surge of pride as I held the avocado.  This thing (fruit/vegetable) actually grew in my back yard.  I started thinking about all the things that I could do with this one avocado, I could slice it for my burger, or make a guacamole, or....  But why did this little object make me genuinely giddy.  

I had nothing to do with its existence.  My husband and I had only been living in the house for 2 months, before we moved in the house was vacant for almost a full year.  I could take virtually zero credit for a tree that had been growing in the yard longer than I've existed on the planet. Do I chalk this up to the whole "pride of homeownership" phenomenon?  

I started thinking about my amazing avocado and started planning a guacamole garden. I could plant a lime tree, cilantro, onions and tomatoes.  So many hopes and dreams from this one little fruit.  Could this a little bit like what parents experience when they look at their children, so many hopes and dreams contained in a small package?  Okay, fine so that was crossing the line, but still I was excited about the possibility.  At least I had time, avocados only ripen once they've been picked.

So for the next week I would look at the avocado on my counter and think about its great future.  But in the end I ended up just slicing it and enjoying it with a little salt and a lot of lime.  I didn't want to change the nature of it too much and enjoyed it for what it was, a little piece of my home.