Hope and Flowers

The seeds are planted

Photo by Cody Sells

In my little garden beds I have done what I believe the kids are calling “Chaos Gardening”. I ordered dirt that is in a giant pile in the yard in between two rows of raised beds. Shoveling it is a hell of a workout. I bought two bags of flower seeds - one of zinnias and one that is a perennial wildflower mix. I ran the ingredients by Brenin who said I could be a chaos gardener but not too chaos (he saved me from planting baby’s breath and I dunno why but he said it would be bad and I trust his plant skills) Then I put the seeds in the beds. Then more dirt. Then watered the beds. Then put some earthworm droppings on it. Watered it again.

I did this where the camper used to be parked and all the grass died. Now it is covered in dirt and seeds and earthworm droppings.

I walked around the meadow and threw seeds everywhere even though I didn’t mow the grass or til the soil. I had a conversation with the meadow and it said - try me, let’s see what happens.

I mowed the dog run and the front and side yards. I am not sure what to do about all the grass on either side of the long driveway, I plan to let it go wild like I did last year. I mostly hope Don and Terry across the street don’t think poorly of me for not making it tidier.

It is raining today and soothing. I trust that the seeds are getting what they need from the Earth. The power just went out and there is something comforting about the light above the dining room table not being on any more.

I can’t stress enough how much I don’t really know what I am doing in this garden, but how much I find myself grateful to have something to do that isn’t my job. My job also feels tenuous at the moment, like I can’t quite see what it is anymore, and I don’t know how to invent new things. I have my tools in the toolbox but it sort of feels like I lost the key and picking the lock seems too hard.

The no new things phase happens to me often. I would like to remember it is a part of my own planting cycle, if there was constant invention season I wouldn’t have much time to implement.

I know that the farther a flower reaches, the deeper its roots are. I think of the giant white pines behind my house, I lean against them and trust their root systems go deeper and wider than I can even imagine. And the more I rise, the more I grow, the more my own roots need structure. To root in. To root.

Getting to know the plants by name is one way to steward but I also am interested in just greeting them as they appear to me. I am learning what is invasive and how the flowers spread and that if you don’t water a new little tree you buy at the nursery its flowers will indeed wither away.

Reading through the applications for Window Place gives me hope. The projects that everyone is working on, the way they envision this space existing, their own hopes for the world. I look forward to a Summer filled with loved ones and strangers who are eager to tend to plants, food, togetherness, solitude, and life.

I love that planting flowers is my hobby and my dreams of a little flower farm are perhaps counterintuitive to a How to Not Always Be Working way of living. But my future roadside stand will need a few bouquets and some weirdo flower essences along with quilts and used books and whatever else the mini museum art gallery farm stand calls for. The light blue Tuff Shed at Home Depot yesterday really caught my eye when I went to pick up more string for my weed whacker, my favorite yard work task.

I am in the spiral where I’d like to make more money but also rest or take a sabbatical, and I know that my ability to earn is directly related to my ability to rest. Not just rest but to turn off the phone, to communicate with less people, and have less screen time. To read, to write, to really be without the phone. To turn the phone off. How many times can I type - phone off. Phone off. No phone. The phone is off. When was the last time you turned your phone off?

The flowers show me how to do this. How to just be still, or waving in the wind. The iris is blooming and the yarrow came back in full force. I am still waiting for the hot pink yarrow to emerge in the back yard.

The lilacs came and went and the rose bush blooms in July. Little flowers spread up from owners past and I patiently wait to greet them.

I understand that all work is the work, but not all work is the job. I understand that in order to do the job I need to tend to all the parts of my creative ecosystem, otherwise the earning parts will wither from not enough water. Every piece is a part of the whole. The practices feed each other.

May I be in the practice
May I be in the work
May I be on the job
May I invite in rest
May I turn the phone off

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