It comes to mind that this site was based on a list. And the list, like most things, is something I have become distracted from accomplishing. Wallowing in despair over this is tempting, of course. However, I have to acknowledge that some of the list has been fulfilled. Case in point, sweet number 22: grow a garden.
In my family, gardening is a gene. My grandma, Lola Mommy, was exceptional, a gardening genius. She hummed and conversed with her plants. She brought the dead to life. These talents were distributed amongst her children, more or less. My mom is quite brilliant at it. She has a way with flowers particularly. And she has a genuine love for it, for the art and practice, for the meditation of gardening.
For me, I am still learning. I am still learning to meditate and garden, and at the same time. I also have a perverse love for reaping what I sow (in gardening, in gardening). So, while I’ve planted a marigold or two, I confess I’m mostly absorbed in herbs and fruits. They are my friends.
Take this old weber grill. A few years ago, it was repurposed as the herb garden. I planted all the essentials. Basil, chives, sage, thyme, rosemary, oregano. Fast forward to today, to this past spring, and I found that the chives, sage, thyme and oregano had resurrected themselves! Alive! They’re alive! I screamed this manically for weeks.
The sage has been especially creepy and majestic. It’s a sage I’ve never seen before. It’s an alien mutation with curvy, curly branches that stretches out and around. I am enthralled with it. Thrilled. Butter is, too.
As for other treasures I hope to revisit in future years, this year I planted…..
Raspberries! Heart be still! A few finally bloomed their characteristic pink this week, and I nearly fainted. I hear they become invasive. Are they? Are they? I hope so. I do like raspberry flavored everything.
But we haven’t even discussed the point of gardening, the reason for it. What is a garden? When I think about why I garden, why anyone would garden, I realize that there’s something recreational in the endeavor, regardless of the hard work put into it. A garden is a plot of land, growing something, that elicits enjoyment from its spectators. So, we plant for beauty. We plant for grace. We plant for the wonder and joy of seeing something living sprout and grow from a seed. We clasp our hands in prayer, forming mounds of the good earth.
I noticed something today. This morning. A cup of tea in my hand. Gigi the shih tzu by my ankles. A seed I didn’t have any expectations for:
My heart grows and grows.