Spring is here. In the northeast, we see some snow lingering, the day crisp and sunny. We’re almost ready to dig out our gardens, plot our dreams for ripe juicy tomatoes, crisp cucumbers and of course, flowers. Spring teases us with cool breezes, shows a few buds, greets us with new births and fills the air with birdsong. Another season becomes a beautiful reminder of cycles, nature’s rhythms.
My podcast guest this week, Linda Wiggen Kraft, reminded me of sitting in nature once or twice a day. When I went to wilderness school a few years ago, Native American based, not military, we were encouraged to find our ‘sit spot’, a place where we felt comfortable sitting in early morn, and/or evening, before the demands of the day begin, perhaps when the demands of the day quiet down. I enjoyed my morning time after my children left for school. I made a pot of herb tea, placed a chair just outside my meadow. As Linda mentioned, nature is initially disturbed as we move about and then when we settle in, nature comes back. I marveled at the way dragonflies flit and saw so many different species. Sometimes deer would come in, females with their offspring, munching on the grasses in the late afternoon sun. In the evening bats would fly about, though today they are endangered here and we see very few at dusk. In a sea of goldenrods, mustard yellow flowers hummed with the presence of so many bees, creating a soft symphony.
Sitting in the stillness, being present to our now, quiets us. We feel calmer, more peaceful, sharpen our observation skills and delight in whoever shows up.
I have heard folks express disappointment when a creature doesn’t show up, but that’s not the point. The point is simply to be within nature’s simplicity. Allow our self a chance to quietly breathe and perhaps be grateful and maybe merge a little bit with our land.
In planning gardens, have you considered doing a short ceremony, creating some ritual that welcomes spring? How about honoring the gift of seeds? After all, they are getting ready to burst into their full forms. We can taste their flavors, smell their peculiar aromas, we can almost taste the sun when ripe.
Today, I want to remind you to approach your gardens, meadows, your landscapes with exuberance, joy, and gratitude. If puzzled on where to plant, what new plants to bring in, sit a minute or two. Engage your senses in the delight of your space first. Walk around, notice the old stems from last year, the bare branches, lifeless grasses. Trust your inner sight, plan it out, roll up your sleeves and dig in!
What rituals do you create for beginning your gardens? Send me brief descriptions. I would enjoy hearing from you.
Thanks again, Judith