A Garden of Delight…

 In Reflections

“The glory of gardening; hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature. To nurture a garden is to feed not just the body, but the soul.” —Alfred Austin

My stepmom is a Master Gardener, out the door early in the summer mornings to water and tend her beloved garden. While not inspired to garden the way she does, I gratefully enjoy the fruits of her labor every time I visit her.

Soaking up the beauty arising from the love poured into the plants, trees, and flowers, my soul is nourished and body refreshed.

Like so many passions and joys in our lives, when we immerse ourselves in the tending of the garden or houseplant, we reap more benefits than we can imagine.

“A beautiful plant is like having a friend around the house.”
―Beth Ditto

How might you sow the seeds of joy this summer by planting, tending, and experiencing a garden of delight? From planting an indoor herb garden to finding drought and heat tolerant plants for a patch of your backyard, there are many ways to get your hands in the dirt, connect with the earth, and get lost in the joy of the moment.

May your soul be nourished this week by the gift of a garden. And may your garden bring you moments of delight and abiding joy.

A Grand Teacher

“A garden is a grand teacher. It teaches patience and careful watchfulness; it teaches industry and thrift; above all it teaches entire trust.”
—Gertrude Jekyll

A Nourishing Gift

“Plants give us oxygen for the lungs and for the soul.” — Terri Guillemets

A Reward

“Gardening is one of the rewards of middle age, when one is ready for an impersonal passion, a passion that demands patience, acute awareness of a world outside oneself, and the power to keep on growing through all the times of drought, through the cold snows, toward those moments of pure joy when all failures are forgotten and the plum tree flowers.”
― May Sarton, Plant Dreaming Deep: A Journal

Lunch In The Garden

We sat having lunch
In the garden
Camellias in flower
And pink vibernum
Crocus, daffodils, and anemones
On the ground
Like the border of a tapestry.

And who were we?
She is 95 now
He, her lover long ago, 81
And I the poet
Who adored her, 80.

Fifty-five years ago
He sent me a telegram
“Oh, let my joys have some abiding.”
We sat in the spring garden
On a chilly March day
And the joys all around us
In the air
As elusive
As the butterfly who came to rest
For a moment on the table.
Miracles do happen
When you are old.

—May Sarton

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