Everything that slows us down and forces patience, everything that sets us back into the slow circles of nature, is a help. Gardening is an instrument of grace. ~ May Sarton
Spring barreled into town this past weekend like a sailor on shore leave. It was a shock to the system.
Two weeks ago–the first day of my kids’ spring break, in fact–we woke up to several inches of snow on the ground. As late as last Thursday (six days ago as of this writing), I was still wearing long underwear, wool hats and gloves to soccer games, wrapped in so many layers of coats and blankets that I looked like the bride of the Michelin Tire Man.
So on Saturday morning, upon waking to blue skies and temperatures climbing into the low 70’s, I didn’t quite know what to make of it. I stepped outside gingerly, as if dipping my toe into untested bath water. Could I really go outside without my coat on?
My garden seemed to whisper, “Yes, Martha, it’s safe.”
Then it added, “Where the hell have you been?”
My older son’s soccer games were three hours away in Pennsylvania; my husband had driven him there. Our younger son should have had three games over the course of the weekend, but was sidelined with a minor concussion.
I tried very hard not to feel grateful for that concussion. Very hard.
But I couldn’t help it. I had an entire soccer-free weekend, unheard of at this time of year. And the weather would be spectacular.
That concussion was another form of grace (that’s my Bad Mom confession). It was the stepping stone to the gardening grace that May Sarton wrote about.
Don’t get me wrong. I love attending their soccer games. (Here’s a post about it, if you need convincing.) I know I don’t have to go; I want to go. The garden will stay put, but my kids are only here for a heartbeat. I don’t want to miss a second of it.
But this weekend I was free to putter in the garden with no emotional conflicts at all.
I pulled on the gardening overalls I’ve owned for over a decade, now faded from top to bottom but even more so at the knees. The metal clasps clicked into place over my shoulders. The overalls are so ridiculous looking that my son asks me to change out of them before I drive carpools.
Having been a Master Gardener years ago, I had all but given up this soul-nurturing passion after I had breast cancer in 2009. The mastectomy and reconstruction surgeries took more out of me than I ever could have imagined. I simply had to ask the garden to forgive me.
Here’s an excerpt from a piece I posted last August (click here to read the whole thing):
“What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have never been discovered.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson
This year I have approached my garden from an Emersonian viewpoint, embracing the virtues of weeds. A house remodeling project in the spring, a book idea, and unbearable stretches of heat this summer have led to an unprecedented level of garden neglect on my part. I have told friends and family that 2012 is the year of Garden as Science Project.
But it’s time to get my garden mojo back. Two hours on Saturday, six hours on Sunday, and three more hours on Monday later, I have made a tiny dent in the spring gardening To Do list.
In the process, I realized that gardening is the perfect compliment to my mindfulness practice. The focus required while uprooting weeds, cultivating the soil, and trimming away dead branches quiets the mind and stills the soul. It’s a dirty form of meditation.
At the same time, I was overcome by creative ideas bubbling up as I dug deeper. Something profound would come to mind, but I couldn’t tear myself away to write it down.
Feeling a little desperate, I pulled my iPhone out of my back pocket and started taking notes. I felt a weird thrill when the rubber coating of my gardening gloves worked on the touch screen.
As I created space in the garden, I created space in my own thought process. I had some revelations. I made some decisions.
In the coming weeks I’ll be blogging about those revelations and decisions, and the interplay of gardening and writing and life.
What about you? Do you have gardening stories to share? I’d love to hear them!
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ellen says
Another “yesterday”. Arriving at my daughter’s lovely home. Lately ,in less chaos, This time in full clean up with younger son up and ready to attend his older brother’s high school soccer game.Surprise! Lovely venue, warm night. My grandson played in new position—a fantastic game. So great to be alive at almost 80 years of age and able to contribute to this blog–my dearest daughter Martha and her amazing family.
Martha says
“So great to be alive at almost 80 years of age and be able to contribute to this blog…” After more than a few dark times in your life, nothing makes me happier than to read those words (and see them manifested in your life). And now I’m going to “out” you — my “almost 80 years of age” mother has recently started to meditate! You’re awesome, Mom, and a wonderful role model for how to embrace every chapter of life. You are more grounded now than you’ve ever been. Love you, M.
caroline Eppinger says
Dear martha,
I also have been very busy with gardening. We are preparing the fruit and vegetables garden in Sermange. Just in case we will be able to be auto sufficient. One never knows!! This has been a dream since I had bought the gardening book of Martha Stewart in the early nineties.
I really look forward to show it to you on your next trip to Europe.
Furthermore, Uwe and I always feel so much less stressed after an afternoon gardening in Sermange. We just do not see the time going by…
Caroline
Martha says
Caroline, I think of you every time I’m in the garden. How are the hydrangeas doing that we chose together for your beautiful chateau in the French countryside? I just tidied up the Oakleaf hydrangea that you surprised me with during your visit to Virginia two years ago. It’s very happy perched in the corner at the top of our slope. One more way the universe connects us, my friend. xxoo Martha
Marcia says
So you know that whenever I am in the garden/yard, I think of you? But with that freedom from focus that snares me at my desk, my mind typically wanders to a whole array of friends. I see a color, hear a bird singing (which makes me think of my mom, who loved birds), and the ideas begin flowing. Sort of like the warbler’s melody, or water trickling down a shallow stream. It is both relaxing and energizing. Opens parts of my brain that are otherwise latent. While I have not yet taken up meditating, my time in the yard is contemplative and soothing. A kind of calm – maybe countering the “fire” in my personality with the soft air, breezes, and the gentle clanging of our “Bar Harbor bell”. Thanks, Martha.
Martha says
Beautifully put, Marcia! I too experience a completely different quality of thinking when I’m in the garden. Love it that you also take such pleasure in digging in the dirt!
Tara DuBois says
Martha, I really enjoy reading your posts and the way you present the information like a story. Really captivating and hurray to revelations! :)
I currently do not have space for gardening, but my family and I have grown potatoes in a bag and tomatoes from a hang-down basket. I have to say when we did these things the family really connected over the process: planting, nurturing, digging them up, and eating! So happy for you that your garden is blossoming and nurturing your mindfulness at the same time. Here’s to a beautiful spring!
Judy Griffin says
Martha, I really enjoyed reading your post. It really inspires me to do some gardening. I do find gardening to be a nurturing and healing activity. So good to be in touch with the earth. I love how you described your passion and how finding space in your garden opened up space in your creativity. Sounds like this garden will be fruitful in an abundance of blossoms. Thank you, Judy
Lisa Manyon says
Sometimes we underestimate the power of slowing down and digging into to life (literally and figuratively). Thanks for sharing your garden journey. It makes me want to get my hands dirty.
Write on!~
Lisa Manyon
Carole Borda says
Watching a seed or sprout growing reminds me of how hardy any living thing, including humans, have to be in order to survive, let alone thrive. It may be poor soil, cold ©weather, various bugs and disease, but the plant continues on trying to thrive . Sometimes unsuccessfully.
So do people carry on, through illness, death and divotce, hard times and disappointment. But somehow, we also continue on. Perhaps it is the similarity and reliability of the cycle that allows us to relate so well to our gardens. They also teach us that nothing lasts forever. The Lion King summed it up succinctly when he sang about the cycle of life.
Martha Brettschneider says
Beautifully put, Carole! We do, indeed, have so much to learn from plants about survival. And also about letting go of control. I do hope your garden is growing well this summer, my friend! ~ Martha