From very early on, my gardens have been places to nourish both body and soul. They are a place to meditate, but then the act of caring for the garden is itself often a meditation.  Instead of hating “weeding” as many do, I love it as the meditative activity it can be. The garden is one of the few places my brain naturally relaxes and allows me to just BE – observing the life around me.

There was a time when my gardens were formal and “controlled”, and at one point the realization grew in me that I couldn’t relax and BE in that kind of garden, because wherever I sat I could always see something that needed to be done! A weed that needed pulling or a plant that needed pruning or dead-heading, and so, over time I evolved a much more “relaxed” form of garden – one that allowed Nature to share in the design. Now, although there are still plants I pull because I choose not to have them in my garden for one reason or another,  I will more often than not, cherish the “volunteers”. Although I sometimes will find new homes for a middle-of-the-path volunteer, I will often leave things well enough alone, and just value the gift where it is given, knowing it chose a place to grow that suited its needs. Now I am able to sit anywhere in my garden and just BE – and appreciate it as it is…

That’s not to say I don’t also have those moments when I focus on something that DOES need doing. Those are usually confined to my morning walk with my cup of tea. That’s a time when I purposely focus on the details – noticing what fruit or veggie is ready for harvesting, or a plant that is struggling, new plants that have popped up overnight, or the work the raccoon family did in their search for worms, and if they unearthed any plants in the process (usually – bless their furry little hearts!).

Evening is my time to just BE in the garden, to walk through it and see the wholeness of it and to lie in the hammock and soak in the peace of it. There is something quite magical about the color and light in the garden after the sun has set but before it is fully dark. There is a stillness then, too, that is deeply healing and nurturing. When darkness nudges me indoors for the night, I wish my hen friends “sweet chicken dreams” as I close them securely in their coop for the night, and thank all the “nature spirits” who share my garden with me, for their joyful and generous collaboration…