Summer Morning
Heart,
I implore you,
it’s time to come back
from the dark,
it’s morning,
the hills are pink
and the roses,
whatever they felt
in the valley of night
are opening now
their soft dresses
their leaves
are shining.
Why are you laggard?
Sure you have seen this
a thousand times,
which isn’t half enough.
Let the world
have its way with you,
luminous as it is
with mystery
and pain–
graced as it is
with the ordinary.
-By Mary Oliver from Red Bird
This week, I did something I never thought I’d do: I planted a garden. I’ve wanted to do this for awhile, but I just felt too inadequate. Truth be told, many a houseplant has died an untimely death under my care. I’ve often wondered if gardening just wasn’t in my DNA. But as my passion for local foods has grown, I realized that I could no longer deny the infinite potential of my own back yard.
So begrudgingly at first, I dragged myself out to the a raised bed beside our barbeque area, which was full of gigantic flowering plants. It took me about 15 minutes to discover that gardening feels good, and about three hours to discover that I was totally hooked. It was a little bit like art class when I was in elementary school–I completely lost my sense of time.
I found it thrilling to press my hands into the inky black soil, to discover the intricate root structures just beneath the surface, to dig and plant and gently pull up the cover of soil as if I was tucking one of my girls in for the night.
I probably don’t need to admit that I talk to my plants while gardening, but oh well. I do. There, I said it. I started doing this because last year in Anna’s gardening class at school, they conducted an experiment. They planted a couple dozen seeds of the same varieties of grass, in two different planters. They sang and whispered to and told jokes to one set of seeds, while watering the other set in silence. The seeds that were loved–not just cared for in a utilitarian way–sprouted about twice as fast and grew hearty and strong, while the others grew slow and sparsely.
I am slowly realizing that gardening isn’t about DNA. Some people may surely be better at it, and some might have more experience or passion, which might help them to take to it more naturally. But even people like me, who have the chlorophyll of many houseplants on their hands, might still be able to grow a respectable garden through the simplest act: just paying attention.
As my attentiveness to the garden grows, I am discovering that this focus on beauty, on the potentiality and fragility and strength of life is helping me to relax. When I am stressed, an hour in the garden pulls me out of myself. It is exactly what I need, just now, to live more deeply into the present.
While gardening, I have listened to the same podcast, Restoring the Senses: Life, Gardening and Orthodox Easter from Speaking of Faith three times. This podcast is so beautiful, and so expressive of what I’m experiencing in the garden, that I can listen to it over and over, always drawing something new and life-giving from it. I can’t stop thinking about the idea that deep down, every human has a memory of a garden–a place of harmony and wholeness. Gardening is not just about cultivating flowers or fruit. It is about finding our way back to paradise. It is about discovering a path through the weeds and thistles to our very first home.
Trent Gilliss, online editor - SOF
4
This is a wonderful post. Vigen Guroian is one of my favorite guests. His softness when speaking about the divine as he tills the soil is touching and profound in its simplicity. Thanks for reminding me of him.
Molly Sabourin
4
Gorgeous poem, Jenny! I love that you are gardening. I loved your thoughts and reflections on gardening. I look forward to hearing (reading) about your progress. Maybe it will inspire me to one day try it (gardening, that is) myself. Thanks for the link to that podcast!
jenny
4
Dear Trent,
I am delighted to hear from you! I am a huge fan of SOF, and I am so impressed with the website. I love that you publish transcripts, poetry, and images to go with the episodes. Thanks for following my link back and commenting here!
jenny
4
And Molly,
Thank you for being such a faithful reader of this blog! I am headed over to your blog now to read your poem–I always look forward to your poetry and photos…
jamey w. bennett
4
Jenny, I think it was Fr. Stephen Freeman who once named each of his trees, Lord of the Rings style.
Gardening is therapy; gardening is liturgy; gardening is the cosmos in miniature – creation, fall, redemption, resurrection; gardening is Orthodoxy in soil.
I hope your garden is fruitful, delicious, and a vision of the kingdom!
Beth Johnson
4
Jenny. Such a lovely poem. The air is so full of life right now. And good for you on the gardening. I am starting simple this year, a few seeds of spinach and cauliflower that I have little hope will actually amount to much and hopefully some tomatoes. Nothing better than that. I have always found gardening to be tremendously therapeutic. It helps me regain my center. And go ahead talk to those plants. After all they are creatures of God too!
Christopher Hopper
4
Wonderful image, wonderful poem. No wonder @jameybennett is inspired! ch:
DebD
4
Hi,
I found your blog from an interview you did at OCN on your book.
I love the idea of gardens and every year I try something new, but sadly our wildlife also like my flowers/veggies. Thanks for the link to Vigen Guroian talk. I recently finished a book of his on death and dying.
jenny
4
Deb,
I didn’t know he wrote a book on death and dying! I am going to have to look that up. His interview on SOF was so fantastic. I’ve got to get my hands on his books.
Anna J
4
Thanks for sharing this beautiful poem, Jenny. And I am with you in longing too, but not yet having actually planted a garden. I have dabbled, with a tomato plant here and a paperwhite there, but have been afraid of my own black thumb . . . time to re-listen to that podcast: I’ve listened to it numerous times as well, but it’s been a good several seasons now since the last. Thanks for the inspiration :-)
Bethany
4
Exactly what I needed today. Ahhh.