Journal

I came home yesterday to find my yellow hibiscus flower finally in bloom. There are only a few buds at the moment, and the plant is relatively small, but seeing it emphasized how patient I need to be when gardening. I struggle specifically with knowing when to continue and let go. There will be plants that are dying, or presumably dead-looking, and I will do my best to revive them. However, is it worth it to do this? Should you be using the best soil, water, and fertilizer nourish what very well could already be gone. The dead cannot come back to life. The thing is though, sometimes plants surprise me, and their fight to survive amazes me, and I don’t want to give up on them.

B.

A part of designing a life worth living is creating a nourishing environment for the soul. Gardening does this for me. There is something meditative about putting my hands in the soil, touching the leaves, branches, and roots, and watching a plant grow. I also noticed that, if I pay attention close enough, nature teaches me so much about survival and resilience.

I took this past week off, and I spent the majority of the time in my garden. Finally, it is cleaner than it usually is, and I have started to create a garden of my own. I refrain to say “the garden of my dreams” because it is this thought that froze me into doing nothing. For the past 2 years since I have moved into my home, I have waited. Even though I purchased several seeds and trees as well as other supplies, I kept waiting to plan out the “perfect garden.” Doing this prevented me from truly living with and growing into my garden, and it made this dream even more distant, that I soon forgot why I gardened in the first place.

Now, I am gardening with the mindset that small efforts often is better than large efforts sometimes. I want to build this garden piece by piece. I want to fail and course-correct. I want to spend more time with my garden and to listen patiently to its wants and needs. Like I am in relationship with my garden.

B.