Around this time every year, I begin therapy. My start time depends on the weather, but it’s usually sometime in May. I pull on some gloves, take a breath of fresh air, and stab the ground with a fork. The healing begins.
There’s something therapeutic about gardening.
It’s hard work cultivating, pulling out those pesky weeds, getting the soil ready for planting. My muscles ache the next day or two so I give myself a break before I get down on my knees to start the planting. In go the carrots, lettuce, zucchini, spinach, peas, Swiss chard, tomatoes, and chives. And flowers, we can’t forget the flowers!
I anxiously watch the sky for sun and rain, and scour the ground for the first tiny green shoots to poke through the soil. When I see them, I rejoice!
What is it about planting and caring for a garden that’s so soothing, so therapeutic? I don’t like the dirt under my nails. The weeds are annoying. Sometimes the crops are disappointing. Occasionally the deer and bunnies get to the plants before I do.
Yet there’s something about a garden, something about working to help the earth produce, something about growing nutritious food, something about nurturing, something about being outside, enjoying nature…feeling, smelling, tasting…seeing the worms wiggle through the dirt.
Both my grandmas had very green thumbs. The one in New Zealand
Until then, there’s nothing quite like biting into a crisp, garden-fresh carrot. Mmmm. Let the therapy begin.
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