Lessons from the Garden Archives

April 27, 2018

Signs of Life

I mentioned in another post that the cold spring we’ve had in the Midwest has greatly delayed my garden. I’ve had to make peace with that fact, more than once! This is my backyard garden’s fifth season, and never have I watched it so closely, for signs of life.

Freeze warnings and temps that dipped into the low 20s continues to plague us this month. I lost plants that I potted, even though I had them on a protected, covered front porch. Perennials that bravely pushed through the mulch, expecting spring, got bitten by the frost and disappeared. My garden has remained empty long past what I considered normal, and I had to release, over and over, a tendency to fret about it.

It didn’t help that on Facebook I was getting notifications about previous posts. Those photos of the garden, in my Memories Feed, reminded me just how far behind my garden really was. It wasn’t my imagination. Plants, flowers and herbs were lagging weeks behind.

April 2016.

April 2018.

Finally, we have the promise of a gorgeous, and warm, weekend ahead. I spent time in the garden this afternoon, pulling the weeds that are popping up, and welcoming that task because at least the earth is stirring. I noted what I have lost: one clematis vine, that did not return after a cold snap, and I have a large bare patch in the border garden that should be full of primroses. A few more minuscule plants are peeking at the sky. I know I can replant that section if I need to.

Signs of life are present though and I am grateful. The herbal garden is filling in. The mint I thought I had lost is reappearing, its tiny leaves fragrant when I brush them with my fingers. Perennials are slowly pushing through the ground, a fraction of their usual size this time of year, but they are alive. The containers are all still empty, but I believe it is safe to plant in them again.

As it always does, the garden teaches me about life. I’ve learned this season about trust and acceptance. The garden is what it is. It changes every year, and this year is no exception, even if I don’t particularly like the changes. I must accept the reality of what is.

I’ve learned to believe more deeply in the unseen. It was tempting, more than once, to dig up a plant to see if the roots had survived the cold. How counterproductive that would have been! There was life beneath the surface, and things happening that I could not see. I learned patience watching a garden that did not appear to be doing anything.

I learned about loss. A few plants did not survive. The majority did, however, and I practiced more acceptance and gratitude as I puttered in the garden this afternoon, observing the changes that have occurred in the last few days. All of these lessons apply to life. Part of my journey the last few years has been learning acceptance, patience and trust, and expressing genuine gratitude.

And I can compare the life sustaining work going on in the plants, beneath the surface and out of sight, with my body’s healing process. Although I have many visible signs of improved health, the deepest healing is happening at a cellular level. As health is restored there, it manifests outwardly. I love the mystery of that process of rebirth, in my body and in my garden.

Tomorrow I am buying annuals to fill containers and veggies for the raised bed garden. I’ll purchase a few new herbs. Before planting more perennials, I’ll continue to watch the bare places, for signs of life there.

All is well, my garden assures me. All is well, my soul agrees.

July 31, 2017

Getting the Weeds Out

Weeding is an essential gardening chore. When I water in the evenings, I pull a few, in an attempt to keep up with the abundance of over growth. Weeds thrive in the garden as well as the flowers and herbs do.

This time of year is tricky. The hot muggy days make it challenging to spend the time outside that is necessary to keep up with the weeds. And those errant grasses and scrubby plants love the higher temps and humidity. I usually fall behind. This year, the section that got away from me, again, was the entrance into the backyard, just beyond the peace gate. The arrival of a few cooler days spurred me to don my gardening clothes and tackle the overdue task.

As I surveyed the weedy mess, I deliberately pushed away the idea of learning anything as I worked. Couldn't I just zone out? When I encounter resistance, it is my signal that I am leaving the flow. Apparently when I entered the garden, I entered the classroom as well. What was here for me today?

Below are my thoughts, in italics, my lessons as I cleared this area of weeds, accompanied by pics.

A really healthy crop of weeds makes it difficult to see the ground cover and paving stones in this section. I feel a pang of guilt and shame. I should have kept up with this better. Energetically, this area feels choked and cluttered, not the welcoming feeling I desire as people enter the garden.

The first step in removing unwanted "weeds" from my life, is recognizing that they are there. And I must understand that they are what they are. I don't need to berate myself. Instead, I can focus on what I am feeling energetically about these things that have cropped up in my life. Choked? Crowded? Overwhelmed?

Some of the weeds have a beauty of their own, like this wildflower. However, this plant is competing for sunlight, space and nutrients with the creeping jenny plants sharing the same area. I choose to eliminate the wildflowers, so that the ground cover succeeds in flourishing and covering this section.

Not every weed in my life is bad. It is a matter of choice. I can eliminate things that are good, in and of themselves, but that are competing for my time, space and energy with things that serve me better.

If I only focus on the weeds, I miss what lies beneath them. This is why it is essential to carefully remove the grasses that crowd and conceal, so that the plants can reveal their beauty.

I don't want to focus overly much on the weeds in my life. I want to look beyond them to the beauty that is there. I can focus on the weed of impatience, for example, and justify it as a sign that I value my time. But looking beneath, I can discover the beauty of allowing…allowing things to unfold as they will…allowing people to be who they are and trusting that all is well.

Most of the weeds are easily pulled from the ground, as their roots are shallow. These plants truly are interlopers that spring up quickly. When I encountered a tuft of grass that clung more tenaciously to the earth, using a hand trowel helped to loosen its grip.

The interlopers in my life have shallow roots as well, if I become aware of them quickly and remove them. When a stubborn habit or time waster or fear inducing thought wants to cling to my space, or my heart, I have tools that help with removal: chatting with a trusted friend, prayer, meditation, self care, choosing for my highest good, consistency, journaling, walking in nature.

Look at the differencein this area, after methodically removing every weed, clover and clump of grass. The energy feels completely different, and I wasn't the only one who noticed. Butterflies began flitting about and there were none here before I began weeding. And not one, but two dragonflies appeared to check my work out. The space, free from clutter, felt inviting. I returned to it over and over, just to enjoy the beauty of it. I felt a great sense of accomplishment.

I can feel that same energy, that sense of my life opening up, and becoming more inviting and welcoming, when I am diligent about keeping my heart and soul clear. When I am methodical about removing unwanted habits or thoughts that clutter my personal space, that sense of accomplishment feels amazing. More good things are attracted into my life.

This was the most beautiful result from weeding the entrance to the garden. As I tugged the last clump of crabgrass from the ground, I inhaled the earthy scent of sage. Suddenly I realized I was lightly grasping the Russian sage plant to my left. It was as if we were holding hands. I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me and tears filled my eyes. Was the gratitude coming from the sage plant? Did it feel the change in energy that clearing the space brought? It was an interesting idea, since burning dried sage is a way of clearing a room of negative energy. I tenderly held the sage, feeling great joy, and then I kissed it and released the plant. Were the neighbors watching? I didn't care!

Gratitude is such a vital part of my journey. When weeds pop up in my space and my life, they bring opportunities for lessons, and growth. I hope that the gratitude I express as I live in clarity and beauty releases an unmistakable aroma of joy, peace and love.

The garden looks great this evening. I feel delight, and satisfaction and yes, gratitude. How grateful I am that I allowed the garden to instruct me today. What powerful lessons I learned as I pulled weeds and basked in the sun and received love from a sage plant. Every time I walked by that Russian sage plant, after we held hands, its long fragrant stems wrapped around my legs or tangled with my feet. That has not happened before. It was like a child, eagerly expressing love by wrapping her arms around my legs. I love you too, Sage, I whispered.

I'm headed out now to give Sage a goodnight hug.

July 11, 2017July 12, 2017

Notice the Flowers

Although it is midway through my garden’s growing season, there was one container I had not yet planted in. The black metal cauldron, that once belonged to Greg’s grandmother and came to me from his dad, was growing a healthy crop of weeds and an assortment of volunteer plants. I took time today to clear the cauldron and transfer in firework flowers that are popping up all over the garden.

What started as a simple gardening task quickly transitioned into one of my ongoing conversations with the Divine. I love these spontaneous “chats”…and the rich lessons from the garden that teach me important truths about life.

I settled into a chair near the cauldron, enjoying the warm summer day as I pulled weeds and tidied up the container. In the past, I’ve grown yellow calendula in the big pot. This year those herbal flowers are thriving in a tall metal bucket. The neglected cauldron contained a tangle of weeds and grasses, and self starting basil and lemon balm plants.

The weeds went into a plastic bucket and I transplanted the herbs, tucking them into the ground. I was ready to dig up volunteer firework flowers that self start from the seeds they drop in the fall.

Those prolific plants are appearing throughout the garden, in metal containers, flower beds, and even between bricks on the brickio. From my space of joy and openness, a conversation with the Divine began. Everyday is an ongoing conversation with the Divine. I receive love messages and lessons through signs and wonders, synchronicities and the unfolding of the journey. Sometimes, though, like today, I “hear” the words mixed in with my thoughts.

Notice the flowers… was the thought that suddenly arose. Notice them. As I carefully dug up the wayward plants, I realized that most of them, although surviving where they were, lacked the space to do well. They were crowded and cramped, in less than ideal conditions. Their ability to grow fully and bloom was compromised.

Ah. I saw the connection between the flowers struggling to grow and human life. Sometimes, although we are surviving, we aren’t fully being who we are meant to be. Our lives are hemmed in, crowded by things or people, cramped by limitations that may be a result of the environment we have chosen to plant ourselves in.

The plants reacted as I uprooted them from their current location and transplanted them into the cauldron. I understood. In life, upheaval is a form of uprooting. Losing someone or something important, changing jobs, ending a relationship, getting a scary diagnosis, all create the feeling of life falling apart. We tend to view these experiences as negative.

However, from my role as the Gardener today, I saw a different perspective, a bigger picture. I didn’t intend harm for my plants. Quite the opposite. I was disrupting them so that they could grow and thrive. The plants drooped. They hung their blooms, even after I lovingly placed them into new spaces that allowed room to expand. They were totally unaware that I was there with them, tenderly caring for them and whispering encouragement to them.

Don’t we do the same, when life appears challenging? We can feel downcast, in spirit and countenance. The comfort of what we knew, of what we were used to, seems preferable to this new, expansive unfamiliar place we find ourselves in.

And this is the thing. The flowers look a bit sad at the moment. They will likely lose their blooms. They may rest for a few days, conserving energy. But then, new growth will begin as I lavish extra care on them, watering them often and keeping weeds away that might choke them. They don’t know it right now, but they are about to expand and they will bloom again, and thrive, stronger and more resilient.

I sat quietly, noticing the flowers and letting the thoughts rise from my heart. I recognized the truths I was receiving. The greatest growth in my life has occurred around times of upheaval, challenges and change. Those seasons were not pleasant…however, they were necessary for my growth. I was cared for as well, even if I wasn’t always aware of the Gardener in my life. All that I needed, to not only survive but to thrive and bloom, was provided with great tenderness and love.

Google image

Such profound lessons from the garden, life lessons. I felt deep gratitude and peace, sitting there in the garden with my thoughts. The Divine conversation was at an end. Or was it?

At that moment, a large blue and black swallowtail butterfly flitted around the cauldron, its wings iridescent in the sunlight. It didn’t pause in its flight, but hovered near me for several seconds before lifting gracefully into the air and disappearing over the fence.

Butterflies are significant to me, symbolizing belief, growth and transformation. I looked up characteristics specific to the swallowtail. They represent intuition, inspiration, higher consciousness, powerful beauty, strength and flashes of insight.

The arrival of the swallowtail at that moment was certainly not a coincidence. With a flourish, and extravagant beauty, it signified the end of the conversation, one full of inspiration and flashes of insight, that began with an invitation.

Notice the flowers. I am glad I was listening.