It took me twenty years to discover a garden's secrets

The secret of the garden is that it’s a playground for magic and moodiness. It’s also a reflection of human nature. If the senses are even the slightest bit dull, the garden will coax a new sensorial relationship in full technicolor. It has a distinct language, discreet yet subtle but one easily learned through patience, observation, and participation. 

Completely at ease with itself, the garden fills a place in my being , which now I could not imagine living without.  The combination of plants, dirt, ants, birds, grass, and seed draw me outside. Quietly they watch over me. Is it my calling to look after the garden? Or is the vocation of the garden, in fact, to look after me? 

They’re not mutually exclusive, one indeed influences the other. Which way it goes or who’s really tending who is irrelevant. All I know is that it’s indistinguishable. Everything is connected and dependent in some way. 

I often catch myself in a cyclical conversation of repeating patterns. I watch for clues that watering is in order. I plant seeds a day or two prior to a new moon. I listen to the winds rip through the pine needles, noticing that the melody is a sweet swishing sound so different from the clatter of cottonwood or aspen leaves. I harvest a fresh patch of spinach and radishes knowing that they will freeze over a couple months from now.  I notice the bats circling and the moths appearing to feed on the night blooming honeysuckle, datura and nicotiana which commingle with the aroma of baked earth. 

I, along with the plants, relax and breathe deep. I feel whole, nourished, at peace. Interacting with nature is quite multidimensional. It has strengthened my intuition and sharpened my senses. It provides the ground upon which I’m able to cultivate flowers and food, welcome family and friends, and deepen my practice as a cook and designer. Most importantly, it’s a means through which the world communicates with its collective memory and myself. 

Do I tend the garden or does the garden tend me? I think it’s the garden that takes care of me. If anything, I participate in an ancient choreography of receptivity, trust, and faith.