The thing of it is, I like to garden. I'm not consistent at it necessarily. But once I pick a day/time/whatever, I'm devoted. I like clearing away the clutter and making a space for flowers, or small trees or even rocks or statuary if inclined. But I'm not consistent. I'm not going to win any prizes in the Gardening club (not that they are even aware of my existence--an exclusive bunch--the Garden Club of the Bubble). Anyway, the way I garden reminds me of the way I write. It sort of also reminds me of the way my older brother and I think.
For example, I went out to the front yard this afternoon. My husband recently hacked down a bush he felt was not serving it's purpose. I have yet to determine what purpose he thought it should have...but whatever. Anyway, There was sort of a bare spot that will eventually be replaced with another shrub (or shrubbery as the Pythonians would say). But for now, it's bare. Oh, good. A blank slate. I went out with my gardening gloves, my small spade for overturning the dirt, my block of sturdy foam to kneel on and a plant that was begun inside but really needed to be outside as it's actually a tree and I planted the seed pod in the house, just to see if I could do it. So, I take my garden shovel and push it down into the dirt. It sinks easily as it's been raining like the 10th day of Noah's prediction and everything is pretty soggy. It's then I begin to notice several things at once. For example, there are hundreds of saplings for some kind of tree in this flowerbed. So I should yank them out. which I begin doing in earnest only to find that they aren't aware that the rest of the weeds gave up after the 2nd day of rain and were just waiting to be plucked. Oh, no! These saplings have settled in for the long haul and some poor excuse for a gardener isn't going to get them out! We struggle for a bit and I go and get the shovel. Take that you rooted tyrants I whisper under my breath. And they release their hold. Now I have to put them somewhere until I can add them to the compost heap in the back yard. My husband bought a couple of these nifty basket like thingees that collapse down into a circle but when you release the buttons on the side, they spring up fully formed into trash holding baskets. So I went to the garage and hunted one of them up. Checking to make sure a nearby tarantula hadn't taken up residence, I unleashed the baskets and began to fill it with the conquered saplings. There is a sense of victory about this unlike anything else. So I begin again to dig a hole for the little tree begun in the house. Remember the little tree I talked about three paragraphs ago? And I notice something else, There are these little pill bugs scampering all over the ground. Sowbugs they're called. They look like tiny armadillos without the snout. And they are running here and there from the hole I've just dug. I watch them for a while, wondering where they will end up and hoping it won't be in our basement, but really if they do, what does it matter? It's isn't as if they smell or anything...or do they? Well, I realize that if I don't plant the tree soon that I brought outside, it will begin to rain on me and I have no desire to get caught in the rain. I dig a little more, move some dirt around, then place the tree in the hole, and cover the roots which are starting to look cramped in their beautiful pottery pot, but really they needed to get out of there. I pat the dirt around gently and notice that the birds in the front yard in back of me are making an awful racket. I turn to watch them as they confront each other squawking and wings beating each other. I can't decided if they are being territorial or this is their version of "Dancing With The Stars." By now, an hour has passed and my sneakers, which have hundreds of tiny little ridges in the bottom of them for decoration, no doubt, are filled to the brim with freshly turn dirt, thereby ruining whatever traction I might hope to have and also ensuring that I will not be wearing them into the house for the next 8 hours until the dirt dries and I can bang them against each other to clear them out. I trudge back to the compost heap with the saplings shushing against each other hoping I won't notice they in the basket and set them free in the midst of orange rinds and other fecund matter. Good luck I think, you're gonna need it in there!
See gardening is looking at a clean slate and realizing the hundreds of ways to go from just this one point. I came in the house to write this post and was met with the sight of a single rose blooming from a miniature rose bush my son gave me for Mother's Day a few years ago. I like the way I garden. And I like the way I think. They are related as my brother and I are. And I think this is a good thing. Just like that pop-up trash bin thingee.
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