Grape

Why a garden?

Reflexively, why not?

Such a good question deserves better. Some of the answers are the same as to the question, why buy a house? Because then it is mine, my responsibility, my work, my joy, my accomplishment. Mine to treasure and weep for and delight in. D's parents came by for lunch yesterday, and duely admired our dining and living rooms. I could only respond that they gave me much pleasure, and I feel blessed and fortunate and oh, so grateful. I love the space.

The garden likewise, although it is a less obvious beauty. I have no control over it, can't really own it as I own a house. The garden is it's own self, and I feel about it something closer to what parents seem to feel about their children. A matter of trust, attention, and a lot of time. Mine was abused, and needs a patient hand, some gentle skill, only one of which I have - researching the rest. So, better learn fast. Tend it well, hope it grows.

Unexpectedly, learning all about the science thrills me. The chemistry of soil, botany, entomology, digs into concepts learned in other science classes - not as forgotten as I'd have guessed. So much available these days, such a wealth of data for self education. Research is my quiet satisfaction, more so with an internet. My mind is thoroughly engaged. I am fascinated.

Eating fresh out of the garden gave me great pleasure as a kid, cherry tomatoes and rhubarb, sweet clover and Mrs. Rizzardi's grapes through the fence. Eating freely, not a daily occurrence when I was young, a sneaky pleasure, even if technically allowed. I would not have enjoyed it as much if I thought I could have gotten in real trouble for it.

Digging, pure and simple. Getting dirty, spending time without a time limit, getting down deep, no one to tell me not to. Watching the worms and bugs, with admittedly more aplomb in adulthood. Still, looking closely at small things, bits of coal and brick, a shiny rock or marble. The joys of a solitary childhood.

Feeding D a tomato I have grown makes me downright gleeful. A small, savory, miracle. Only a very few last summer, but maybe this year.

Watching the light across the earth. Attending to the sun, movements of everything around.

Finally, it's as inexplicable as love. Whatever aspects I can point to and say, 'yes, I love that about my garden' do not define that overwhelming desire to plop myself down in the dirt and wait for photosynthesis. The heart of it is inexplicable, unencompassable with words.