she’s back, and so’s the rest of the story. now there’s a comfort plot.
by bam
hours on end, and well past nightfall, these past few days and eves, i’ve been digging in the dirt. the straight-up way, dirt to skin, the way it oughta be. the way of purists, and desperadoes.
count me among the latter.
ripped off the gloves, i did. sunk my fingers deep. as if clinging to the ledge, come to think of it.
even landed me some worms, a good three or four or five, over the course of my dawn-till-dark, bare-skinned diggin’.
hoisted up those worms, dangled them right before my eyes. tried to stare ’em down, see who’d blink first, the worm or me. but, dang, i never did make out where the worm face was exactly. so i simply transported the little fellows on to browner pastures.
they are worms after all.
and, of late, i’ve been feeling wholly sympathetic to the plight of each and every creepy crawly thing.
and i’ve been more than grateful to all that dwells within my garden’s mounds, the things with legs, or simply gangly roots.
it’s been–as the garden always, always is–my last-ditch, sure-thing salvation.
or at least the place that lets me unknot the kinks inside my soul. and the lumps stuffed down my throat. and the raw parts, wherever they are.
as i find myself being pried away from this holy plot that’s mine, this humble chunk of real estate that somewhere bears my name scritch-scratched on a hundred thousand documents (or so it seemed at that signing long ago), i find myself, more than usual, being called to knead through the tsuris the dirty way. the way that demands a shovel and a trowel. and knees so caked with mud they might never come clean again.
the blessed thing i’ve noted this time around, the lesson worth hauling in the house, is that, while all the world around me seems shaken, seems not the same anymore, the garden picks up where it left off.
it is in many ways a narrative ever spiraling, a plot that comes again and again. at once changed but constant.
like a great good book, one you pick up again and again, knowing just the spot on the page where your heart will race, and then the tears will come. because every time you read it, the words are just the same. only the way you read those words–the power and the message–shifts, falls in and out of shadow, spills suddenly into dappled light.
fact is, i find it wholly reassuring that everywhere i step–beneath the pines, in my squishy sodden some-day meadow, just beyond my star magnolia–i find evidence of what has been, returned again.
as if the whole experiment in birth and death and resurrection is headlined with this promise: “to be continued…”
the truth, of course, of any well-loved garden is that its cycle never ends, doesn’t flag. might wilt. might collapse in august heat. but come the spring, come april’s hope, there it bursts in may, the sweet reward for nothing less than not tossing in the trowel.
why, just beyond my kitchen window, the spicy viburnum, the one that makes me swoon at the turn of every april into may, it’s back again, replaying its intoxicating theme, reminding me of the elixir named anticipation.
and right where i planted them, and where i watched them turn to brown and look for all the world like shriveled death, there come the tips of ferns. and then the fronds, furled tight, like newborn’s fists, not yet splayed, reaching out beyond the womb.
no wonder not even hunger calls me in.
i cannot stop, cannot be sated in my quest to take it in.
everywhere i look, there’s proof: faith pays off. believing is a virtue.
why the bleeding heart, dug up and moved in the heat of july, it’s forgiving me. it’s shaken its summer shock. burst forth in tender profusion. all’s well that blooms in my garden.
how is it that the earth remembers? how is it that it gives and gives again?
who deserves such generosity?
i don’t know those answers, but i do know this: we’ve embarked, my garden and me, on a holy blessed journey. i tend with all my heart. i make mistakes galore. but in the spring, it soothes me. it sticks its neck out here and there and everywhere.
it asks little.
rewards abundantly.
teaches plenty.
so i’ve made a vow. i’ll be there for my garden as often as i can be. i’ll miss it when i’m gone. and i’ll always hurry back.
my garden’s the thing that’s saving me right now.
and i intend to pay it back in rapt attention to its glories.
forgive me, as my garden does. the day’s been long again, and the hour’s late. i might need to shift just one more blessed thing in this the latest chapter of my life: my wednesday meanderings might become my friday meanderings.
i think perhaps the chance to meander on my own slow time might be a finer thing. this downtown-first-thing on wednesdays demands one of two things: getting up at 4 to meander. or typing fast as i can in between making dinner, shuffling little legs to bed, and keeping my own eyeballs from falling closed.
i’m not one to shift my rhythms without a moan and groan. but seems the wiser thing to do, to unloose these hours, and make the end of week a holy place and time. stay tuned to see what next week brings…
so here’s my question: what does your garden whisper to you, when you tiptoe by? if not your garden, then what otherworldly living things call out to you, teach you sacred lessons?
9 comments:
Carol
My garden of edibles whispers to me “Why did it take you so many years to turn me into a fertile haven for vegetables from the dog run for the part wolf German shepard of the previous owner? No imagination maybe?”
After three years with veggies, I too wonder what took me so long?
Wednesday, May 6, 2009 – 10:29 PM
hh
Perhaps you are like the bleeding heart — uprooted from your home, suffering at first, but thriving now after a period of recovery.
Thursday, May 7, 2009 – 05:54 PM
pjv
Digging in the dirt is quite cleansing, non? Tres jolie ……
Thursday, May 7, 2009 – 11:35 PM
bam
hh, amazingly keen observational powers there. actually i was going to put a comment on last week’s meander, about how all of you who inspired me to look for daffodils at work, and to scatter seeds as i traveled beyond my comfort zone, so moved me.
in fact i am now through my first full official week of being a downtown girl three days a week, and well, i think i not only survived but found a few glimmers of light and hope:
1.) it’s kinda fun to sit near really funny smart writers all day long. especially the ones who are moms of young kids and thus in the same boat, only much more experienced at it
2.) my little one held my hand a lot this week, and literally ran and leaped into his papa’s arms and then mine when we came home together last night.
3.) my mama is doing a glorious job of taking even better care of them than i do with my scattered brain and attempts to always juggle everything
4.) i have met and heard the stories of some amazing souls at work and on the way to work
5.) my garden looked even more glorious last night when i was walking through it, not having had a chance to really study it since i’d hung up the trowel on monday night. this week especially it seems to have exploded, and everything was five times the size of when i’d left it…….
all in all, i want you all to know that i carried your words with me in my heart as i walked to and from the train. i remembered you sent me forth with a mission: to plant and pluck beauty far from the garden that i call home…….
so THANK you. you dwell in my heart at every turn on my journey.
love, bam
Friday, May 8, 2009 – 12:47 PM
Harriet
BAM:
Whenever you write, I will be reading with delight. Even when you are sharing the most serious of life changes and deepest of hurts, I find joy in the beautiful way you have with words.
For myself, without my own garden, I have been savoring the tulips all over downtown in recent weeks.
Friday, May 8, 2009 – 04:20 PM
lamcal
I have received a composter for M.Day…..and it seems a perfect metaphor for recent events…take all the scraps, unwanted elements of food life, the weeds/twigs/clipping/old spent flowers and throw them into the scrap heap and let it all blend and soon enough there is a rich resource for new growth. One never can know what comes from garbage and waste….blessings on our weeks ahead and new growth is somewhere out there.
Sunday, May 10, 2009 – 07:13 PM
vam
bam
With all of the sowing and reaping you do those three days a week, I can only imagine it will make home’s bounty all the richer………….and if it happens to be a bad day, throw it in the compost pile and let it nourish your ‘home garden’ in the form of appreciation for the place where loved ones dwell……
It’s wonderful to hear that there can be some ‘light’ found in your new venture…..
Love V
Monday, May 11, 2009 – 08:16 PM
bam
dear chairs,
table here. just a little kitchen furniture joke there. it’s wednesday night. and i think i have to wait till friday to meander. that makes me sad. i am aching to write, but unless i clone myself there will be no sitting here tonight penning meanders. i think i don’t breathe from tuesday at 5:30 a.m. till thursday somewhere around 8. p.m.
this will be the first wednesday in two, or is it three, years, that i’ve not meandered. as i said above, lots of changes abound these days. a sad one is not meandering in the middle of my week. stay tuned, won’t you…..i might try to find a way to still make wednesday a sacred writing day. but this week, i can’t figure out a way….
blessings till friday.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009 – 08:08 PM
pjv
Worth the wait … those of us who gather around this table extend grace to you, dear bam. We know time is far more scarce these days …….
Thursday, May 14, 2009 – 04:16 PM