Yesterday was the first time I was able to work in the garden
this year. The day was just warm enough, dry and sunny. I am a bit of a
lazy gardener at times, and I tend to leave a lot at the end of the season.
Last fall was not an exception. I had a lot going on in my life at the end of
the summer, and I just could not manage to root out all of the weeds and clean
up the mess that had taken root over the summer while I was away. So I left it.
I arrived at the garden and was greeted by a tangle of weeds
and overgrown plants and dead forgotten plantings from last year. I did what I
always do, and spent a little time taking stock and visiting with this little
piece of earth that I had not seen for a whole season. As I wandered I made a
mental note of the tasks that needed to be done, and made decisions about the
best places to start. I took the time to “arrive” in my place.
Then I got to work. Clearing, pulling, piling the detritus
from the last season and clearing space for the new growth. I always find
this to be a cathartic experience. After a long winter away from the physical exertion
of being out in the garden, I have renewed energy for the work, and a new
perspective of the possibilities there. I love how you can attack the dead
flower stems and the weeds with a great deal of aggression, removing all that
is not green or growing to make way for those tiny green leaves and shoots that
appear as you slowly hack away at the dead wood.
As I was working, I was struck by how easy it is to clear away
those deeply rooted weeds. Had I tried to clear all of that away in the fall, it
would have cost twice the effort, and I would have had to just repeat the
process again in the spring to stimulate the new growth. Immediately I drew a
parallel to the process of transformation and healing that I have experienced
in the last few years.
I recognized as I was clearing this much-loved plot of land,
that there is some “clean-up” work that can only be done after the softening
effects of time have come into play. Everyone who is going through pain and
upheaval hates the phrase “time will heal,” but it is so ubiquitous for the
reason that it holds a very deep truth, one that proves itself over and over.
So I worked away in the sun and the crisp air of spring,
thinking of all the things that now must fall away from my life, and taking
peeks at the new green life that is strongly presenting itself through the rich
earth. And I am grateful. For the time, for the new life, for a chance to exist
in a new form.
For a day in the sun with my hands in the dirt.
