What's Meant To Be ...
And as such, I've been cleaning and chopping a lot of celery. I like a lot of celery in chicken salad. I like the freshness. I like the crunch.
My mom makes a recipe for chicken soup that calls for a lot of celery leaves. When the recipe was first written, celery leaves were probably a lot more common than they are today. Today, stalks of celery are light on leaves. A lot gets hacked off and left in the fields.
But as I cut the bottom off of what was left of a stalk of celery (the whole bunch is a stalk, one piece is a rib), I remembered seeing a post about regrowing vegetables from root ends. And I thought of Mom's dearth of celery leaves when she needs them. So I thought I'd try to grow some for her.
I sliced a sliver off the bottom of the end, plunked it in a little ramekin, and added some water from my Brita pitcher. Filtered water seemed a better idea than tap.
I set it on the edge of my sink, and then on the counter on the other side of the faucet, lest I splash it with soapy water when rinsing dishes.
And the top began to dry out and turn a bit of brown. But barely. More like beige.
And then, a day or two later, I noticed that the middle was higher than the edges. The innermost ribs were up to something.
And then yesterday, I saw tiny leaves beginning to form.
And this morning, I saw what you see above.
I'm delighted by this easiest of all houseplants.
I'm delighted by the pale green color. I love spring greens. They're so hopeful.
I'm also reminded of what amazing things happen when we simply allow them to happen, when we get out of the way, when we're patient.
I add a bit of water to the dish every so often. That's my only role in this celery adventure. The celery knows what to do and can't help but do it.
There's a big life lesson in those little leaves.