We haven’t had rain for weeks. As the heel of my work boot hits the top of my garden spade, the force drives it deep into the parched soil. The well-rooted older gardens brave the drought with hardened patience. They understand life’s duality. How scarcity prepares for plenty. I’m taking flowers, shrubs and trees from the old beds. They need more space. Even after years of gardening, I still plant too tight. I never believe things will be as big as predicted. I can hear the old beds sigh with relief as I free the choking stress. The funny thing is a garden looks most beautiful to me when its overgrown. Plants pushing one another to gasp for air creates an allusion of uncultivated opulence. Left untended, survival of the fittest takes over leaving no room for the gentler, more ethereal plants. The flowers that add fun and whimsy. And so, I let my gardens over flow just until I hear them start to pant then it’s time to dig a new bed.
The piece of ground I’ve chosen has been wild for centuries. Rocks, clay and smothering weeds growl as I work the soil, preparing it for a new life. The new flower bed has no experience. No understanding of the joy or misery that lies ahead. For there will be both. The glorious seasons of thriving abundance toppled by disease, sickness and death. It took me years to see the grace in the circle of life. I railed against Mother Nature when she unleashed vicious aggression and took credit when my gardens flourished. She is a benevolent teacher safe in the knowledge that time was on her side. Year after year, she offered up lessons, until I finally understood. I must do my best, be steadfast and have faith. Everything else is out of my hands. When I accepted my powerlessness over the universe, I was free. All unnecessary frustration withdrew.
And so, here I am, planting another garden. The largest, so far. Influencing where I can.
It’s raining…
Thanks for reading.
