My knees are muddy, my shoes are full of dirt, and my hands, they are the ones who suffer the most. They're cold, stiff, cracked, swollen, and bleeding, not even my fingernails are safe. The gardens have beckoned, and I cannot ignore their call, not when I've anxiously awaited to hear their requests.
I've dabbled with some spring gardening the last few weeks. Nothing too serious, a little cleanup, raking, and sweeping. But all of that changed today, today I craved a chance to really get my hands dirty. What I can find while working in the soil is what others seek in the bottom of pill bottles. Gardening is my medicine. A serious disagreement with an eight year old..... pull, pull, rake. Dealing with the stresses of motherhood.... drag, yank, turn. An argument with a husband.... till, plow, plow. What to make for dinner.... pluck, clear, and then maybe..... discover. I've lost and then found myself in the time it takes to clear one winter neglected flower bed.
Nothing is as instantly rewarding as preparing soil in the spring. Clearing out the old, so that the new can thrive. In a few weeks I can plant some of our cold hardy crops in the garden, but until then I've got plenty to do. With dozens of flower beds in need of attention, it's always the same one that draws me in first.
|Under all that dead, I find my favorite iris flowers|
A bunch of sword like leaves crowded and crammed around a street post in the front corner of the yard, that's all it was, a cluster of irises that never bloomed. I was determined to see what color those petals would be, so that second spring, I dug, transplanted, and expanded outward from that sign post. giving those sword leaved plants room to show me their blooms..... to no avail. Year three, this would be the year, especially since I'd spent hours carefully weeding out each clump of entangled grass..... still no luck. Year four, maybe I have some seriously old irises, can flowers get too old to bloom? Still not ready to give up I weeded, cleared, stacked stones, planted a tree, and waited..... and there it was, one bloom among a hundred plants, finally I had an answer.... yellow. So why on that fourth year, what had changed?
In my search for answers I discovered Iris is the Greek goddess for the Messenger of Love, her flower is the symbol of communication and messages. I found no need to look any further, I'd found my answer, I knew why my bloom came when it did.
Last year, I was rewarded for all my hard work, dozens and dozens of beautiful yellow flowers. Is gardening therapy? Absolutely, I'd found a much needed message in the middle of my flower bed. I think I'll be busy for the next several weeks, I could use a little gardening right now..... well that and a good remedy for my hands...... but not any medicine...... because I've already got all the medicine I need for my soul.