I am watching my garden grow. It takes a lot of patience. It also takes a lot of care. It has taught me that I’m not so good at waiting; I’m also not so good at getting down on my knees and weeding. I’m pretty good at watering and fertilizing but don’t ask me how many little pellets per square foot – for me it is a good deal of intuition and faith – well really – hope. All the professionals tell me that this year has been tough. The winter had a hard freeze when the temperature hovered around zero and the hydrangeas rebelled. So, it is a slow return to summer’s glory.

I expected a rainbow of colors by now. What I got so far are these yellow Yarrows. (Although to be fair the purple Irises have been both faithful and reliable, but they are unhappily very short lived and I saw a few buds on some blue geraniums.) It is quite a spiritual exercise, this waiting and watering, watching and worrying, weeding and wishing.

I never heard of Marc Hamer till I read a piece in the NYT.  In his latest memoir: “Spring Rain: A Life Lived in Gardens, he writes, “a garden is always a place of worship even if it’s a really crappy one.” If I can extrapolate from his words: Worship is believing that there is a power (or Power) in the universe that promotes growth. Some people believe that power listens to prayer. Some people believe that power invites us to find the oneness that unites the flower and the seed. In Hamer’s reflections, “kneeling in the garden is like bowing to the world that made me.” It is acknowledging – there is a place for us. It is hands and heart united in gratitude.

I believe in my garden, but I have a fair amount of garden jealousy. I pass neatly coiffed landscapes with defined beds and barely a weed to be seen. That’s not mine. At least not yet. But it won’t be that way forever. Eileen just bought me a new weeder that hopefully makes the process palatable. It’s Wirecutter’s favorite and called a Woodcraft Weeding Hoe. (Father’s Day you know and who wears a tie these days anyway.) I tried it out this morning. Here’s the challenge – is that a weed or wildflower?  And what do you do with the mulch you have now dug up.

Never mind, it is good therapy. If I can keep the red ants and chiggers away from me, it is a healthy form of meditation. Never mind, I love how it is never static, always changing, always becoming. I love how the dirt under my fingernails (no matter how thick the gloves) is a prayer to creation and all that is yet to be.