Sharon's blog: Peace like a river

I was thinking this morning that it's September and my summer didn't go as planned. March brought with it very early and very beautiful blooms, as did April and May, but then suddenly things began to slide downhill. It wasn't so much the weather, because heaven knows we were warned that it would be hot and dry.

And it wasn't anything big that happened, things went along just the same as they always do during summer months. And it wasn't the death of beloved plants or trees because mostly they took care of themselves. But things went downhill.

Now it is September and I look back to find what went wrong. Usually I spend some early morning hours getting my hands dirty, most every summer. And then in the early afternoon I can't resist and go back outside just to check blooms or to look for scattered pollen or to listen to the chatter of the birds in the breeze. And in the evening I'm out again, playing in the dirt, moving this or that. And at night I often sit outside beneath one tree or another, thinking deep thoughts, solving world crises or even little ones that come along now and then.

I didn't have the opportunity to do those things this year. It was too hot, too humid, no blooms, no new growth. The soil was brick hard and didn't cling to my hands and the plants looked up as if to say, 'Just leave me alone right now, I need to rest.'  The birds didn't sing like they usually do, and the squirrels didn't have soccer games with hickory nuts on my hot roof.

I think maybe as gardeners we have something inside us that can only be content when we are right in the middle of the soil, right there to see which little critter is scattering pollen, right there to sing along with the birds. And when that pattern is abruptly disturbed, when we don't get our dirt laden fix, our souls become irritable, disturbed.

As I was thinking, a long ago hymn from my childhood made its way to my thoughts and now it's embedded there at least for the duration of this day.

"When peace, like a river, attendeth my way, When sorrows like sea billows roll; Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say, It is well, it is well, with my soul."

My best guess is that to us, gardening makes it well with our souls.

Just thinkin'.

( No account? Join now! )