The Garden Taught Me How to Grow

 

I began by tending weeds, till a neighbour

taught me how to loosen the soil by weeding.

Then I learned to plant, seed by seed

and row by row: fruits and veggies,

and flowers for our delight.

Up and down the rows I crawled, pulling sprouts,

patting soil, my fat rabbit nibbling his way along

and napping near me in the rows.

Early mornings, I turned on the sprinkler:

swish-swish-swish, in a circle, thirsty plants

drinking deeply. It was a blue-sky summer.

In the evening, I would weed again, or

simply bask, gazing in gratitude
at the carrots and cucumbers, the squash

and watermelons, the huge green leaves,

marveling at so much spectacular bounty

from such small seeds.

The nature spirits smiled.

My plants grew like Findhorn cousins,

with not a weed in sight.

My garden taught me the pleasure

of sowing and its reward. My garden taught me

how much water it needed, how to help

small plants along until they grew tall,

much as my children taught me
how to mother.

It was the garden that taught me

that all of life - the interconnected cycle

of all things - is designed

with one clear mandate : to grow.

for Brendan's prompt at earthweal: Tending a Difficult Garden.

The garden we are globally tending now is difficult. Yet still, Mother Earth showers us with blessings and beauty, with growing things, with new generations of young beings. She grows in spite of us. How much better she will grow once we re-learn the ways of old and begin to live sustainably and simply, in harmony with the nature spirits. The same principles apply to gardens large and small: when we take, we must put back. Where there is damage, we must restore. During covid, we saw how the earth responded with relief and clearer skies to reduced human activity. The time is now to lower emissions to not surpass that 1.5 C target.