Now that the weather's finally cooled off to seasonably normal temperatures, I went down to the nursery this weekend to buy more plants and replace the ones that died. I couldn't believe how excited I was to plant things and buy plants or that I went home and planted them all by Saturday night. Granted, I did work in a plant lab in graduate school, and so I feel obligated to have some sort of garden and green space to validate me in my field, but I have a beautiful place to which to retreat at the end of the day. It's not opulent or ornate, except as God made His creations to be that way on their own, but in many ways my yard is now part of my refuge. I like spending time outside, even in the summer. I like working in it, even though it's work and even though it takes me like 12 hours to trim all the bushes out front. I like most of all enjoying the flowers and the flavors and the scents and the visiting living things that come here. They know I planted a garden eastward in my Eden, and I feel God's approbation of my work and presence in the yard, and I am pretty sure He augmented my efforts with the touch of the Master Gardener's Hand.
Digging in the dirt gets me grounded. There's something about kneeling, digging, and putting something alive into the barren ground that refreshes me no matter how tired I get from the work. Even setting the blocks for the planters last year, as I dug trenches and leveled the soil, particularly as I started to fill them with dirt, mulch, and organic material, made the yard feel so much more welcoming. We were sent here with the admonition to dress this garden and take good care of it and warned that by the sweat of our brow shall we eat our bread. Well, I certainly sweat a lot putting this thing in, but the care and maintenance so far has been trivial and enjoyable, so much that I go out almost every evening to check on things while the dog runs around and plays. That's probably why some things are still alive- I was out there caring for and looking at them. You see, what we nourish is strengthened, and because I paid attention to it, pruning, dunging, and digging about each plant, most of them survived, even though the soil is poor and the heat was scorching. Some nights, I go out and lie on the ground looking up at the sky, and others I sit in my camping chair and watch thunderstorms behind the mountain. While everyone else sits in front of flickering electronics, I'm outside in touch with and among nature, and I enjoy the evenings. There are no fireworks, but there's this indescribable sense of satisfaction, purpose and peace that I enjoyed since most of my evenings are free that I have never known since I was a boy. For a moment at least I almost feel like a little kid again, like all that matters is to lie under the stars and listen to the wind in the leaves and not worry about cares or concerns.
The yard is welcoming. Friday night, I played out back with the dog while I put in a few plants. I planted some of the herbs and perennials I bought while listening to bird song. Interestingly enough to me, pigeons do not congregate in my yard, but songbirds, hummingbirds, and nesting birds line the top of the house, the branches of trees, and the fences while they watch me, all seemingly unbothered by my presence. Aside from the scorpion who stung me, the critters seem to mind their own business, and I felt bad just tonight when I moved something and sent pill bugs scurrying for shade or when i threw something in a bucket and stirred up a bee that was resting on its edge. It amazes me just how much cooler the yard is with a few plants strategically placed. I'm looking forward to the meager first year harvest. I already had both watermelons, both pomegranates and both peaches as well as a few handfuls of grapes and blackberries. My beagle keeps eating pomegranate flowers, so I have to watch him if I want those next year. The lemons aren't ready yet, nor are the figs, and that completes this year's harvest. The artichokes look well, the asparagus is already spreading, and the strawberries have recovered from the summer blast as has the lavender, and the smells and sounds are very welcoming. As I drove into the driveway tonight, it felt like home, and I was glad to be here.
Gardening reminds me that life goes on and fruits do come for those willing to dig in and stay down to earth. In grand total, I've lost five plants so far in my entire yard. I killed one of them, a penstemmon at the bottom of the driveway that I sprayed with weed killer accidentally. I lost a germander out front. My nectarine died suddenly, probably from an insect, a lavender never made it, and the raspberry cane burnt in the summer sun. Even the pineapple is growing. Otherwise, everything is bigger, healthier, and happy in my yard despite the long Vegas summer. It testifies to the planning that went into this, delaying the back yard for a year while I did my homework and leg work preparing the soil, because even in poor spots of ground in native soil, I have thriving, growing plants. The first crop of figs from this tree all fell off, aborted I think to preserve the tree, but now there are probably 50 or more ready to ripen at the end of this month (this variety does two crops per year, one in June and one in October/November). I think Jesus would be pleased with the fig. Every time I saw new leaves emerge, I got excited, even on plants that have no fruit and never grow any, because that tells me that something's working! Look, I actually CAN have something work out and enjoy the fruits. At least on this small spit of land with these living things I am the gardener here, and you can rejoice with me as it continues to grow and prosper.
I try in everything I do to do the best I can with what I have. It's not always much of a comfort. I'm getting close to ten years as a single, divorced adult, and most of those years I've spent completely out of a relationship. Most of my friends don't stay, and many of them flee when they discover to what Faith I belong. Outside my house but within the property lines, the plants grow and thrive, the flowers are plentiful and vivid, and the fruits are tasty even when they are few. For a moment, at least in this way, "the best I can" means something that I can see with my eyes, hold in my hands, and enjoy with all six senses. I'm a simple man. I would love to be a farmer, but I know it pays squat. I'm a practical man. I planted the garden as a show of good faith to God that I would actively try to provide for myself. I know that it CAN increase the value of the house when I sell it and to me while I live here by providing things I desire. I bought this house so that I would have a place for my family, and I got an education so that I could provide for one, and the women think I'm boring and outmoded. I guess that's the negative denotation for down to earth. I planted the garden as a show to women of another way I can be a provider. The simple pleasures of life, the things that I enjoy have to do with the earth. I enjoy its splendor. I rise each morning and leave the house to exercise by 0615 except on Sunday when I sleep in until 0700. I garden, I do photography, I hike, I camp, I kayak, I run, I swim, I waterski...all of these are things that get me out into the world and keep me in touch with the same stuff from which I was made. For a year now, I've walked to the grocer almost every time I needed to buy food and carried it home just like my ancestors did. I am earning what I have by the sweat of my brow, and I pray to God that He restore to me my hope for family and posterity. I am certainly working very hard for them. I carried 15 cubic yards of dirt, manure and compost into the back yard with a wheelbarrow. I have seen my share of dirt. For dust I am and unto dust I shall return. Until then, I'm trying my very best to improve this tiny and insignificant spot of earth over which God made me steward. Today at least I feel like if He asked an accounting there would be something to show for it.
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