Where Rabbits Shop for Groceries

In a word — Car(e)ish

Life begins the day you start a garden. — Chinese proverb

Some years back, my then four-year-old grandson, Aju, asked if he could have his own plant.

Aju used to follow me around in the garden when he visited. Sometimes, he helped water and feed my plants.

“I’ll bring a plant for you when I come to your house,” I promised.

Hubby and I were to drive to our daughter’s place in a little over two weeks.

That gave me enough time to root a stub of celery. I didn’t want to buy a plant from the garden center. It would be more interesting for Aju to grow one rooted from kitchen scraps.

Before we drove out, I packed gardening paraphernalia: potting mix, trowel, plastic planter — and the celery plant.

Carish…

We arrived in time for lunch.

Immediately afterward, we set about planting the celery. Aju helped me pour potting mix into the planter.

He then scooped out a small hole into which he stuck the celery. We filled the hole with soil, tamped it down, and watered thoroughly. Finally, we set down the pot in a shady corner of the deck.

Aju was triumphant. “I have my own carrot plant.”

“It’s celery, not carrot,” I said.

“I have my own radish plant,” he announced when his dad, M, got home from work.

“It’s celery, not radish,” I corrected.

“Carish!” Aju declared.

He stepped out on the patio before bedtime to look at his plant. Asked if we should water it.

“Not yet,” I said. “Maybe tomorrow. If the soil at the top feels crumbly.”

Next morning…

As soon as Aju awoke the next morning, he pulled me onto the deck to check on his carish.

My eyes fell on Aju’s debut gardening venture — and my gasp stuck in my throat.

The celery leaves, green and tender the day before, now lay torn and withered around the pot. The half-eaten root stuck half out of the soil. Chunks of stalk lay scattered about the deck.

Aju’s mouth fell open. “What happened to my carish?”

The hole gouged out of the soil pointed to a large-ish animal.

Raccoons? Rabbits?

“I’m sorry, baby,” I said. “I think a… bunny ate your celery.”

Aju’s lips wobbled. “It’s not fair, Ammama. I planted my carish and watered it and everything. And now a bunny came and ate it all up.”

His eyes filled.

“Look, baby,” I said, quickly, “when you want to eat radish or carrot or celery, you go to the store and buy it. But a bunny can’t go to the store when he feels hungry. He has to eat what he finds in the garden.”

Aju was quiet for all of five seconds. Then he said, “Ammama, should we start putting out food for the bunny every night?”

Uh, no. Definitely not.

“How about we go pick some figs?” I didn’t want to answer questions about why we should not feed bunnies.

“Okay,” he said.

Food for thought…

We got a large steel bowl from the kitchen and marched off to the tree. I held down the lower branches so Aju could pluck the fruit. Some of the figs were half-eaten.

“Who ate our figs, Ammama?” Aju wanted to know.

“The birds and ants.” I pointed out a cluster of ants feasting on an overripe fig.

“Because the ants and birds can’t go to the store, right?”

“That’s right.”

In about ten minutes, the steel bowl brimmed with over a dozen large ripe figs.

I pulled down yet another branch. “Here, baby. You can pluck this one.”

Aju shook his head. “No, Ammama.”

“Why not?”

“Coz’ we got lots already.” He held out the bowl. “And if we eat all the food, the bunnies and birds won’t have any, remember?”

“That’s right.” I ruffled his hair.

The way I see it, the true mark of a gardener — even a budding one — is to care not only about the plants that grow in her garden. It’s also to be car(e)ish about the creatures that visit the garden or call it their home.

Thanks for reading!

A writer I just started reading- Kim Zuch. Love her nature stories.

Some of my memoir pieces:

Thank you Alex Frederickson for publishing my story!