Gardening

Photo credit here.

 For a moment today, I felt unscheduled, free to sit in the sun or lounge in the shade. I had no “to-do” list, no task pressing me for attention. My cortisol levels dropped precipitously, my mind blank and only open to the present moment.

 

Earlier in the day, we parked a little over a mile from the local botanical gardens, then walked and jogged over to the Japanese garden to catch what was left of the cherry blossoms. On the walk back, we stopped for coffee, meandered across a creek, kept searching for Jack in the Pulpit along every leaf covered hillside. Nothing was pushed or pressing. The temperature in dappled shade fell just shy of perfect, the humidity obviously on Spring Break with everyone else.

 

Currently, J is house and pet sitting, so after our excursion I joined him for the midday release of the pup. The back yard of the house contains a pool, Adirondack chairs, loungers, a cast iron dining set and several large umbrellas. I opened an umbrella up after dipping my feet in the pool, shading my upper body while exposing my legs and feet to the sun. In the quiet warmth of their back yard, all other tasks melted away. 

 

We drove back home for lunch, and my brain cranked back up with the lists: the Work list, the House list, the Yard list, the Trip list, etc. The gift of gardening lies in its absolute insistence – if a garden happens at all, the seeds must be started in the spring or the bulbs must be planted in the fall or the pruning must happen after (or before) the plant flowers. The garden has to have water, appropriate soil, sunlight, spacing. Weeds cannot get the upper hand; mulching will help every plant’s and person’s nerves. 

 

So despite other lists, the Yard list took priority and I spent the afternoon planting seeds for giant sunflowers, Rose of Sharon, basil, cilantro (hope it’s not too late!), tomatoes, carrots, zucchini, okra, and eggplant. I dreamed of where the seedlings may go in the yard and how to create space for them. I took out plants from the basement, so they can begin their spring transformations. I weeded around returning azaleas, hosta, black-eyed susans and crepe myrtle. I doted over returning day lilies, swamp irises and star-gazers. I wondered how best to reign in pushy canna lilies in one part of my yard and how best to spur their growth in another. I hoped the peony at the corner of the porch would bloom this year.

 

By four o’clock, I began to clean up the remaining tools and ended by cleaning up myself. Now, after dinner, I’m sitting on the porch with my vigilant Maltese enjoying the transition from bird song to crickets in the slow decent of the spring sun. 

 

I’m grateful for these days which slip from task to taskless, which whisper promises of bright yellow heads heavy with seeds or the sweet burst of a perfectly ripe tomato, while reminding me to care for what is most important right now. I pray that I am and trust in grace and mercy for the rest. 

 

3/26/26