Today I played in the dirt…and it was grand.
I think I've gardened in one form or another just about every year of my life. Containers, balcony, small spaces, every space…you name it, if it had soil (or could have soil), I grew something in or on it. I'm pretty sure it must be genetic, as just about everyone I know on both sides of my family has gardened at one time or another. This year, however, I wavered.
What changed? Nothing, really, apart from life just getting busier and busier…and perhaps me getting older. Before I knew it, indoor seed-planting time had come and gone and I'd missed it. Then planting weekend loomed…and slid by. Then it was the first weekend of June and my very last opportunity to put in a vegetable garden. And I was waffling something fierce. Worse, I was feeling resentful.
I'd penciled in planting on my agenda. I'd made a list of what I wanted to put in. I'd cleaned out the garden and prepped the soil. I'd even made up a plan of what would go where. But all I could think about as I drove to the nursery was how this was just another job to do, another task in a seemingly endless list…just one more thing. And I resented the hell out of it.
And then I gave myself a figurative smack upside the head. Really? Since when had gardening, something I looked forward to every single year for…well, a lot of years…become such a chore? Heck, since when had it become a chore at all? Gardening has always been my solace, my escape, my sanity. It has grounded me, anchored me, absorbed me into its rhythm of seasons, and reminded me of my roots. In short, it has given back to me many, many times what I have put into it…in both a literal and, yes, a spiritual sense.
So, two trips to the nursery and several hours later, I am tired, dirty, happy, and far less stressed than I have been in a very long time. I have a garden filled with promise and potential. I am reconnected to one of the things I love to do, and through it, to the vast network that is nature.
And I got to play in the dirt. 🙂