Milk Carton Gardening

Spring brings opportunities for growth and metaphorical lessons blossom this time of the year. As a kid, we drank down milk (chocolate for me) that accompanied our lunches and teachers reminded us to save our empty cartons. We must have forgotten frequently or the teacher stashed away said cartons, but the dreaded day came when it was time for sowing seeds.

I don’t remember much about the lessons, but I remember washing out and drying the cartons, opening the opposite end of the drinking side, and adding soil. Next came the seeds and a sprinkling of water. Lopsided red and white milk cartons lined classroom window sills with the occasional brown and white ones. A few of us didn’t like regular milk.

Sure enough, within days, someone announces the first sprout emerging from the carton-pot. We all gathered around, taking a look at the tiny green specimen boldly pushing its boundaries wondering whose would be next. Sprout they did. First one, and it seemed within minutes, another, another, and another. The race was on with observing leaves and measuring height. The first one to sprout raced to the top, leading the class in all of its spring time glory, a mini-beanstalk, not nearly as big as Jack’s. Would there be a mini-giant running after him?

I read too many books of imaginary little people and giants and magic beans.

Looking in my milk carton, the same soil sat there. Day after day, I willed something to grow. I followed the directions. I added the soil and pushed down the seeds, lightly topping them off with soil. I watered it like we were instructed. I placed it on the window sill with the others. Excited with all of the new shoots, classmates hurriedly crowded around the window sill to see whose plant led the class in height, or number of leaves, or even a second shoot.

Lucky.

There mine sat, a little carton of soil with nothing growing. I don’t remember any teacher giving me advice, allowing me to plant another seed, or encouraging me to pair up with someone else. No lessons on why some seeds germinate and others don’t. I quickly observed my dirt, went back to my seat and drew a little box, covered with brown crayon. My green crayon was much taller, the brown one getting worn down each day. Why couldn’t I use both like everyone else?

The special day arrived when we took them home as gifts. Mother’s Day gifts. This is for my mother? A lopsided repurposed chocolate milk carton full of barren dirt? My mother deserves so much more. Kids proudly walked out of school lugging book bags and lunch boxes, their plants proudly waving goodby to the rest of us as they were escorted home.

We did this for a few years. Each year, whatever I planted either barely sprouted or didn’t bother to grow. Later, I learned to stop at the trash can, making my annual deposit and walking home empty handed while everyone else took plants home. Did they re-pot them when they arrived? How long did they last?

I never knew and I never asked, but I did try my best.

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Teacher me would have started the container gardening lesson with The Empty Pot, by Demi. Of course, I’m older than the book, but no matter. I used it with a class today and reminded everyone that sometimes, not all seeds will sprout. If that’s the case, they can try again. I just want them to do their best.