I have been waiting for the average last frost date to arrive with as much anticipation as a kid waiting for Christmas. With only a short four month growing season, I am anxious to get my seedlings into the ground in order to give them a head start. The warmer weather should be arriving on Sunday with temps reaching near 80°F. I have already spent the better part of the past two months creating hügelkultur beds and preparing the soil to receive plants and seeds. I have had to begin again so many times, in new places. I long to stay in an area long enough to achieve the reward of being able to harvest asparagus, to plant fruit trees and berries, and to create living fences and hedge rows. Even while I know that life is ever-changing and impermanent, I long for stability and the opportunity to know that at last, I am home.
I have learned that it is easier to simply accept what the current moment may bring. Will I be here a year from now to enjoy the beautiful perennials that I am planting now? Will I be able to see bulbs that I will plant in the fall, pushing their heads up through next winter’s snow? Will I have the opportunity to see the fruits of my labors for more than one short season? How many more years can I put my body through such tremendous hardship in order to create a space that is more beautiful than I found it? When the pain in my hands and my shoulders and back is screaming for my attention, how much longer can I ignore their cries? I am driven. I am driven to co-create with nature; I am driven to return habitat to the many other species that have struggled in this human world of concrete.
I promise to be good to myself when the difficult digging is done. I will hang out my hammock and actually lie in it, watch the clouds and rest a bit. I will remember to take the time to simply be in my garden where I can observe and enjoy its beauty. I will sit and drink lemonade and walk barefoot in the soil. I won’t think about tomorrow or next month or next year. I will stop and be grateful as my old and weary bones absorb the sultry warmth of the sun.
