Gardening
is not for some other persons in a future time. It can be meant for
each of us, right here, right now, with a desire to help something grow
and change a small spot on earth. And no matter what our beliefs seem
to be, gardening brings out a little bit of the spiritual in all of us. Gardening doesn’t just enhance the environment but us too, as we are
one of the factors in the cosmos of growing things, so we most
obviously are changed and can be even more so if we are paying
attention to the details. We become gentle revolutionaries believing in
all life great and small, as our thinking changes about how things
work. With this opening of our minds and hopefully our hearts, it
creates a symbiosis for our personal gardening history which includes
memories. These memories can fuel why we seem to be here in the first
place - to create and especially to experience.
With
the memories of last year’s garden keeping me company, I have to say
that I could be better about the impatience I feel as the snow and cold
hang on to the raised beds. I love having my hands in dirt, and though I
am ready to hang up my rubber palmed gloves mid-October, by March, I
can hardly wait to go at it again. It is about that time, I have
forgotten the humidity and mosquitoes. Like a mother that gives birth, I
can’t quite remember the pain of lifting the bags of compost, heavy
pots, gravel and bending over weeds for hours on end. Then there is the
canning, dehydrating, washing, cutting, dicing and slicing the bounty
so that it can be eaten throughout the year (yes we still have root
veggies and frozen strawberries along with our canned goods). And even
if I could remember the hard work, I would quickly realize that of
course, it is all worth it.
But
what the garden truly gives me are memories of a much more personal
nature. As I think back to the year we moved to Harsens Island, we not
only had our garden cat, Buddy on detail but he had a calico to pal
around with, our beloved, Cricket. Between the two of them, not a
mouse, rabbit, mole or any other living thing had a chance in hell
surviving once it came within the perimeters of the garden. Cricket was
so good at her job that we named the garden after her because she loved
it more than being inside even on a cold rainy day. Cricket is no
longer with us, having eaten something that took her quickly. I can look
out our kitchen window, overlooking the pond and still see her walking
along the cedar beds, patrolling the area for invaders. But worse of
all, Buddy missed her terribly at first and watching him go it alone
was a bit heartbreaking.
Another
casualty of our garden pets was, Howie. Now don’t be fooled by the
name, Howie, who it turned out, was female. Of course, we didn’t know
that small detail until a visit to the vet because Howie was a box
turtle. And by then we had called her Howie for too long to shift to
another name like, Howette! Howie traveled cross country with us in in
her portable aquarium. She was abandoned in Seattle, rescued by our
neighbor Bill, only to pawn her off on us. But we quickly fell in love
with her, especially, Joe as it triggered young memories of growing up,
living on the lake. I imagine, he being solitary by nature, meant that
turtles and frogs were boyhood companions. He would fuss over her
well-being, giving her weekly “tub time” and making sure she had her
favorite melon. The spring of that year, I got a brilliant idea of
letting Howie live in the greenhouse. She loved it, until one day, she
found a crack between the ground and the frame, somehow squeezing out,
shell and all. I know turtles are slow, but there is something to that
fable of the determined turtle beating the hare over the finish line,
because she was nowhere to be found. Joe still really doesn’t like to
talk about it so we have taken the high road of living in the positive,
convinced she is in the ravine behind the ½ acre of garden.
But
the sweetest memories are always of my husband, Joe, working in the
garden. As I write this, I have such a clear picture in my mind of him
sitting on an overturned plastic bucket, trimming his heirloom tomatoes,
fussing over each branch, unraveling them from each other as he puts
them in their cages so they will have support for the rest of their
growth. I kid him, and tell him that he really isn’t Jewish, but
Italian as those damn tomatoes seem to be a part of his DNA. Each day,
his skin becomes a deeper shade of brown, ball cap a bit more frayed,
the dirt under his nails a little harder to dig out and most
importantly, it opens my heart. Seeing Joe, happy, at peace with his
hands in dirt, helping things grow, hits every note of loving him more.
His interchange with the garden and the animals continuously shows me,
that somehow I chose the perfect man in a complete moment of divine
clarity.
In
this co-existent journey with nature, we find that each season has a
spirit of its own. Spring is full of energy and hope, summer offers
endurance, autumn is for gratitude, and winter harbors a sense
of reflection. Since gardening cuts across the distinctive seasons it
takes on a different character with each month of the calendar and
virtually each week. With this as a backdrop, it colors and feeds the
memories of what I love the most. All of this of course, is not just
the action of what I am doing but always a metaphor for life. Though we
may have heard it a hundred times, it doesn’t make it any less true,
and that is what we sow bears fruit. And every time I
have heard it, I really haven’t realized how it is applicable to my
daily life, because I just don’t think about it in those terms. But I
could never have imagined that what it means for me is “the fruit of my
heart”. As I continue to garden, and fall more deeply in love with
everything and everyone around me, I wish you all a bountiful year….from
my garden to yours as you reap what you sow.
Try
growing your own sprouts
All you need are some seeds, a large, clean
jar and some netted fabric secured with a band. Soak seeds that have
been thoroughly rinsed for the first 24 hours in clean cool water,
draining and refreshing the water several times. Store in the dark. Then
rinse twice a day with fresh clean water and set in sunlight. Your
sprouts will be ready to eat in a week.
