Words are so limiting. They describe so little of the depth of some joys. Smelling lilacs. Blue, blue rushing into your soul. Planting seeds.
heirloom tomato seeds: Pink Brandywine. I can't wait to see the first baby green growy things poke their heads above the soil. Even more exciting will be transplanting them to new beds at my new house in a few weeks.
As hippie as this might sound, something deep within my soul is refreshed... remade... reconnected... when I dig my hands into good dirt and play a small role in the magic of growth. I (rather romantically, perhaps) like to wonder if the few drops of Native American blood in my veins contribute to my need to cultivate connections to the earth and the rest of creation. Made by the same Life-giver, we humans are intrinsically linked to nature. Why do we like to pretend our well-being does not rely on the health of our natural world?
I recently read a fascinating article emphasizing soil health. Both agriculture and horticulture have given little regard to replenishing the nutrients and minerals depleted by plant growth. Sticking seeds in the ground and spraying synthetic fertilizer on the plants to make them grow might produce fruits and vegetables, but our fruits and vegetables are slowly losing their nutrient value. Yay for composting! :) Another article I read (I'm great at forgetting sources) suggested the need for pest control is a sign our produce is worth little to our bodies. The author cited bugs as nature's scavengers, eating what is unfit for human consumption. Interesting.
Another growing (sorry about the pun) interest of mine is urban community gardening. How cool would it be to reduce a city's waste by establishing neighborhood composting sites and transforming vacant lots into cooperative gardens? Someday, when I'm big... For now, I'm daydreaming about how my garden in town can be used to bless and establish relationships with my new neighbors.
Life in spring is intoxicating.