Writing now to check-in. With myself and with this space. I am sitting on our front porch, the place I whined for weeks about not having any furniture only to get the furniture and then never sit out here. There is no excuse because the time where the breeze is cool at dusk and bug bites are not a worry yet has arrived.
A year ago we were in an apartment with a newborn, house hunting, and figuring out how to be parents. Now, we are Mama and Dada to a babbling toddler who is running all over the place in our first home.
The other day Miles threw his hands desperately on the front door. Slapping them hard and I read his look instantly- please, outside. The last thing I wanted to do was step foot into the 5 o'clock heat and walk aimlessly. What better than a visit to our community garden plot then?
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My gardening knowledge comes from years of reading the Farmer's Almanac but never really doing any digging. Well look at me now. The fool whose hose sprays water everywhere from the spigot and coils into a knot I have zero faith will ever come undone. My Tennessee-born and raised husband knows a thing or two about digging in a garden but I like to figure things out on my own and this plot of dirt spoke to me. It said: family memories, time outside, and maybe, possibly, something growing.
I never thought about the community. No one ever talks about the people. The ones who have been around awhile are certainly characters and I enjoy getting to know each personality. I listen to them argue over what constitutes truly organic soil and I take it seriously but smirk to myself. I like the idea of a place where something like that is cause for major concern.
On the first volunteer day I brought Miles and wore him in a baby carrier as he was not walking quite yet. I had no idea how I could help but determined to make a good first impression, I grabbed a trash bag and started to pick up debris. Within a matter of minutes a group doing the same task shooed me away, "You don't help with this. Not with the baby". In a world where equal so often means doing the same work the same way as everyone else, I walked away letting all the heaviness escape my chest. It feels good when your community understands your limitations and it is empowering to be respected despite them.
There is a deep sense of trust in the garden. Trust that no one will disturb another plot. Trust that the tools will be kept clean and orderly for all to use. And trust that Mother Nature will provide the essentials to grow our bounty. We all sweat under the same sun and hope for the best.
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During our weekday visit, sun hats in place, I set out to water our seeds: carrots, kale, collard greens, and a few tomato plants a fellow gardener gifted us. Miles wandered, as he does, and I just let him. It felt good to give him that independence, checking every so often on where he was and what he was doing. My mind focused. It was a boost to my motherhood to do something with grit and let my son do his thing. (As much as people warn against when babies start walking, I enjoy living life side-by-side very much.)
Our garden is 300 square feet and we decided to give ourselves the grueling task of double digging. This has occurred at a painstakingly slow rate but half the plot is complete. The double digging hurts every muscle. At a certain point, it feels pointless and reminiscent of digging a grave. Once you dig deep enough, you fill the space back up with now aerated, nutrient dense soil and create a mound. The mound shape holds more seeds and allows roots to grow deep and strong. The double digging of the soil creates healthy soil for years to come, as opposed to simple tilling which is very easy but leaves soil depleted very quickly.
Even so, there is no guarantee of our seeds ever sprouting at all. We trust that they will. We trust that sweat on our brow leads us to a harvest. In my life, I have feel like a shovel has been thrust into my hands one too many times. Do I dig deeper? Or walk away? There are no guarantees. Is it worth it when the rewards are often invisible? For as long as we can, we muster the energy to keep digging deep, understanding full well the vulnerability perseverance requires. For me, I must first answer why? Why bother with any of this effort? I want to live as authentic to the roots of who I am. When I live in that way, I feel free. And when I am living freely, I can mother with a mind and heart as open as the sky above.
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