My Schrödinger's cat moment plays out in real time.
Under the frost cloth out back sits perfect and healthy Aloe Vera. Their spiky leaves reach skyward with expectant dignity. The cluster of pups surrounding the larger mama eagerly await new spots in pots for this spring. They hold all of the promise of words like “future, growth, optimism, hope”.
Or . . . they don’t.
Once I lift their protective cover, I could find the bitter cold of these past few days has turned them into mush and slime. All of my plans and optimism destroyed by nature’s cruelty.
So I’ve decided to leave the protective cover in place and not take a peek under it. What I don’t definitely know can’t hurt me, right?
This ability to hope for the best while I prepare for the worst sums up how I live life not just my gardens, but in other crucial decisions and relationships. At the moment, I can live with a frost cover on some friendships as I grapple with their continued silence. If I don’t contact them, I cannot know for certain if they condone this lawless cruelty. They are Schrödinger’s cat.
Copyright 2026 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
I think I'm swimming in doubt. Thought I'd share IOUNIO's "Swimming" with today's post.
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