We just started receiving the fruits of our planting. One zucchini, two yellow squash, and two green peppers. The zucchini was stuffed with a spinach, mushroom, couscous, parmesan mix, the squash were breaded and fried and the peppers are going into our spaghetti pie tonight.
I am supposedly now, cooking dinner, the girls remain outside on the swings, but I had a few thoughts I wanted to get down. It seems we are eating later during these summer months. The daylight, lasting so much longer, tends to keep the sense of night at bay and therefore with it such things as dinner and baths and such. So it is just a hair before 6pm and I am just now pulling myself out of the herb bed to come prepare our meal.
What starts as a sit down with a magazine and a cup of tea in the yard becomes a thought of, Oh, I’ll just pull a few of these weeds, which then falls into a sort of meditation. My brain seems to stop when I am in the garden and (pause, look back) as blueskyhi commented so accurately on the previous post “having your hands in soil is a way of grounding oneself”. My magazine (a British Country Living at that) lies forgotten in an old lawn chair, my tea cup is set down amidst the dill. I am still thinking but I don’t seem to care that my bum is poked out for the world to see and it is only too short a time before thumbs ache, dirt settles into the cracks of my hands and I am only noticing this blade of grass, that weed, the flowers on the dill, the sheer volume of the parsley, a spider here, a lightening bug behind the basil. The earth is dry, water must be brought and possibly mulch are the only sense of “responsibilities” I am feeling.
So now, I come in. The bed is mostly weeded, minus a few thistles that need to be dug out and some lemon balm that needs to be repotted. And so I re-enter the house with a mixture of scents on my hands and also vaguely surrounding me. Dill, sage, basil, lemon, mint, thyme. I wash the brown earth from my hands and gather what green things I need for my dinner.
There are lessons in my garden. About insects, about plants, about food and taste, about spirituality and about peace.
So now off to cook, after I go out and fetch my teacup out of the dill.