For most of my adult life, I have been searching for something to 'complete' me. I don't think I really reflected fully upon this while I was working. There were too many projects and deadlines and the like. In my free time, I wrote poetry, and when I look at some of what I wrote circa twenty years ago, I realize that I was searching for connection. Not with people, because that part of my life is fine, but with nature and the earth. That was sorely lacking. I was stuck indoors for most of the workday, five days a week. It's not as though I didn't get outdoors to walk or bike or just enjoy the sunny days that came our way; it's more that I had no personal connection with the earth. I was missing that in my life. It wasn't until I began to garden that I realized what I had been missing.
There is nothing that makes me happier than working with the earth, in the literal sense (planting seeds and plants) and in the figurative sense (aligning myself with what the earth can and cannot give). People talk about mindfulness and how important that is in our age. It is. A garden offers many opportunities for mindfulness, from weeding for several hours to pruning bushes and trees, to watering what you've planted, and finally to harvesting what you've planted (if one has planted vegetables and fruit trees). There are many gardeners who dislike weeding. I am not one of them, although I wouldn't want to do it on a daily basis since it's backbreaking work. What weeding has taught me is patience and perseverance. Weeds persevere; they come back in every which way no matter how often you remove them. They're survivors and they adapt to the conditions around them. I understand that they need to be removed because they choke the life out of the plants they surround and intertwine roots with. I need only think of skvallerkål (ground elder in English, Aegopodium podagraria in Latin). It spreads like wildfire in the garden. But at the same time that I'm removing them, I'm marveling at their ability to survive and spread. I admire that ability in all plants that are designated as weeds. I would not remove them if they were not so invasive and threatening to other plants.
I've written about gardening many times before, but that's because I am ever grateful for a pastime and passion that centers me. The world around me can be literally going to hell in a handbasket, but I am happily oblivious to that when I am in my garden. I am more concerned with what the garden needs to be happy. Most gardeners feel the same way. I know that my own lone voice will not change the world situation at present (many voices can do so, so I understand the need to participate and vote), but once I do my civic duty, I am free to pursue my relationship with my garden. I am free to put my hands in the earth, to see the earthworms moving about in the soil, likewise the little pill bugs that remind me of little armadillos. Little spiders have made their home in my greenhouse, and every now and then they peek out from behind a ceramic pot to see if the coast is clear (is she still here?). I love watching the sparrows chattering, singing and quarreling with each other, or taking common baths in the birdbath. Every now and then my robin friend comes for a visit; I wish he'd stay longer, but I guess he has other gardens to visit too.
My relationship with the earth is multifold. It is with the earth, literally, with my garden, as well as with the life in the garden. I've learned to appreciate all life in the garden, no matter how small. Each living thing has its job to do. It's immensely comforting to know that. Their purpose is by design, and I tend toward believing that it is a divine design. When you look at the intricacies of garden life, how everything is interwoven with everything else, it's hard to believe otherwise.
