Sparkling like tiny diamonds morning dew clings to the azalea’s forest green leaves, also adding glitter to the rhododendron and yews. A sun-warmed breeze greets me as I step out onto the front porch. Inhaling the grassy scent of a new day, I watch my houseplants sway lazily on porch hooks, no doubt enjoying their freedom from their indoor winter confinement. Ahh, spring. And a perfect day for planting.
I pitch a small trowel into the soil, anticipating the burst of color that will soon “paint” over the monotone earth. Multiple hues of impatiens, beefy-leafed begonias, pink and white geraniums, pansies, and petunias stand ready. Turning over the dirt, the arising loamy smell is a welcome one. My digging disturbs two fat, glistening earthworms and I gently toss them into another patch of soil. Though I’m appreciative of their presence as indicators of good soil, I prefer their usual invisibility.
Late Blooming Gardener
After a lifetime of NYC apartment living, the thrill of finally moving to a house and with that, acquiring a small plot of outdoors to call my own, is something I never take for granted. Over the years, I researched and familiarized myself with scores of plants and flowers beyond the few that lived in pots on fire escapes or the bouquets of carnations sold in every corner grocery store. I ripped out overwhelming amounts of choking ivy, pruned and planted in my compact, too shady space. With rare exceptions, I prefer to garden alone.
For me, there’s a meditative quality in the mundane tasks of gardening. The repetition of pulling weeds, trimming shrubs, and bagging debris may sound monotonous, and while I admit, these garden chores are not ones I necessarily look forward to, they allow my mind a much-needed shift into low gear. The physical nature of these tasks, done in sunshine or clouds, to melodic birdsong overhead, brings me a sense of peace. And the reward soon follows.
Nature-Inspired Meditation
Most Zen-like is the planting, absorbing myself in the flowers’ colors and shapes. The riot of spring color is unmatched. Other senses are heightened, from the feel of velvety leaves to the contrasting aromas of the flowers’ sweetness and the soil’s earthiness. I cultivate this meditation and keep distractions to a minimum by gardening in solitude, which is why I prefer to be out working the soil in the early morning hours. At that time, there is some assurance of being able to bask in the nature around me without the intrusion of droning lawnmowers, or the exuberance of basketball-playing kids. There’s less chance of chatty neighbors to engage with, or too fast-cars taking a shortcut down my small block. The whirlwind of everyday life is on hold just a bit longer. It can wait, after I put away my gardening tools and have a last, quiet look around.