The Last Sunflower Standing

My grandmother had a victory garden in the backyard. My aunt tended gardens, too. I decided I wanted to continue the tradition.

I’d had limited success with tomatoes last summer, since I planted them in pots with lovely organic soil rather than the depleted, acidic earth that I’d inherited. And my herb garden under my kitchen window fared well, too, supplemented with nutrient-rich compost.

This spring, I purchased seedlings from White Barn Farm. I planted the starters for eight mammoth sunflowers, four smaller sunflowers and dahlias. I also mixed in a rosemary starter, some basil and a cantaloupe.

Each morning, before my early swim, I would rise, walk slowly with bare feet through the damp grass to check on my budding garden. On the first day, I found two of the taller sunflowers had been snapped near the base and the one dahlia flower had been snapped off, too.

The next morning, I found another downed sunflower. Each subsequent morning, I tiptoed to the garden; each morning, another sunflower snapped. I’m not clear who the culprit might be, but I had visions of that vicious rabbit, The Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog, in “Monty Python and the Holy Grail.”

I grew some replacement seedlings and planted them in the killing field. They got taken out, too.

I love sunflowers and I had visions of tall stalks rising from the soil, following the light with their wide faces. I’m stubborn and optimistic, but my persistence wasn’t producing the desired result.

I thought about those slaughtered sunflowers. Their attrition in spite of my best efforts reminds me a lot of my search for meaningful work these past two years. I’ve been in the running for numerous jobs, yet no result. A good start then a sunflower down. Undeterred, I’ve submitted more applications, prepped for more interviews, like sprouting and planting more seedlings. I’ve been a finalist a number of times. Nope. More downed sunflowers.

Today I have one tall sunflower still standing, still reaching for the sky. Par hasard, I found a child’s toy dinosaur and I planted it in front of the sunflower to stand guard.

I’m holding out hope for that one sunflower.

I’m holding out hope for me, too.