Yesterday was a busy day, with a lot of chores. It was also a pretty day—clear skies, not much wind, and temperatures in the 60s. So when I noticed the fan had kicked on in the greenhouse, I stopped on my way to taking out the kitchen trash and opened the door to it. I figured the plants would appreciate some fresh air.
And then I forgot about it.
This morning I rose around 4:30, as is my habit, and let the dogs out into the backyard (there is a dog door that they can use, but Archie Dos, who has more than his share of anxieties, is afraid to go out into the dark by himself). I noticed then how bright and clear the skies were, with a fingernail moon, and there was a slight, but sharp breeze. I mused on whether it would warm up enough by afternoon to ride without arm warmers.
Later in the morning, after it was light, Archie Dos started nagging me again to go outside. It is our ritual to “check the crops.” And so I went with him to the greenhouse to see how the cotton plants fared the night...and I found the greenhouse door still open.
Who knows how cold it got in there last night? If the earlier greenhouse freeze disaster was any indication, it will be several days before I find out whether they took a hit.
Despondent is not the right word—it is too strong for this. They are only plants, after all, and I have the back-up specimens at the TTU greenhouse. Disappointed is not quite right, either. Nor is angry. I am not quite sure what what the word would be, but it would some mixture of resigned, tired, numb, sad, and resolute.
I added resolute because almost immediately my thoughts turned to starting some new seeds in the event that my mistake leads to losing the plants. I was already in the process of soaking some peat pots to replant the G. thurberi seeds (one of yesterday’s chores), so it was not a stretch to pivot quickly to doing the same for the others.
Yesterday on Facebook a friend accused me of always seeing the bright side of things. But that isn’t what I am doing. There is no bright side to being careless and losing all these plants after months of labor.
Instead, I think my reaction is more along these lines:
“Ok, this happened. What is the plan?”
To use another well-worn, entirely useful cliche’, clean up the milk and move on. I’m not happy about losing the plants, but there is work to be done.
You become resilient by practicing resilience.