The Art of Work
Spending time as a gardener binds you to the land in a way that only a few professions have the capability of doing. There is something deeply satisfying about digging your hands into the dirt, or ripping a weed out of the ground, or snipping a stem with pruners. The best of days are ones that end with dirt under your fingernails. Or is that just me? Anyways...
The other day my mom and I were at the movie theater after a stressful day of moving and an extra strenuous trip to Target where it felt like the entire state of Delaware was shopping. We ate Mexican and headed to the theater in need of some R and R and a good ole fashioned chick flick. While standing in line at the concession stand, I became engulfed in a sea of teenagers in graphic tees texting and yelling things while kids were running about with candy and popcorn flying and my mom was having every ice cream option listed for her in detail. I am also pretty sure a baby was crying and the smell of popcorn was clogging my lungs. In that moment all I wanted to do was to find some grass and sit in it. Quiet, still, moist, and green. It's comforting. I think our bodies crave it. So the next time you are swirling in a slow motion vortex of noise and and graphic tees, just find yourself a real nice patch of something green and run your fingers through it and see if that doesn't do your heart some good.
This week I helped plant 800 plants in the fern gully, learned how to weed eat, and waved as trams filled with smiling white headed folk passed through the garden. I also only stalled the trucks 3 times today! It's the little things.