We’re in our happy place now. Greenhouses are open. Cue the music because this is indeed the most wonderful time of the year. For my husband.Ìý
Normally I would wander through the greenhouses with him. I love the way it fills the senses: the bursts of color, the fragrant aroma and the stillness I often encounter. There are a few conversations as people discuss what will grow well in certain spaces, but I love the quietness as I wander through the rows and take it all in. Ìý
I know very little about any of it. It’s my husband’s domain and that works out well for us. He loves all the work involved and I love the finished product. A match made in the best of gardens.Ìý
Last year and so far this year, I haven’t gone into the greenhouse with him. With limits on how many people can be in there at a time, I didn’t want to take a spot away from the true gardeners, but I love it when he brings the plants home and tells me all about what he found.Ìý
He was talking about our hanging baskets and I suggested it would be easier to buy the pre-planted ones that come ready to hang. While that works for me, it doesn’t for him. He said that even though they were beautiful it would take away from the joy of what he loves: getting his hands in the dirt, doing the planting and watching everything grow.Ìý
We used to plant a vegetable garden (well, we meaning him, of course). One year he was away for several days in early July so I decided that while our little girls played in the yard, I would weed it as a surprise for him. Ìý
As much as he appreciated my efforts, he had actually been looking forward to getting back to taking care of the garden because it would give him time and opportunity to think back on his meetings as he watered, weeded and got his hands dirty.Ìý
Many know that feeling – the feeling of contentment and serenity when our hands or feet make contact with soil or sand. Walking barefoot, playing in the dirt or burrowing our toes in it can feel so, so good. There’s just something about that contact and how it feels against the skin. Ìý
Soil often defines the culture and livelihood of a region. It determines what will and will not grow and has given rise to entire civilizations based on what could be produced. That connection is the subject of history, literature, poetry and art, as writers and artists seek to describe the relationship between people and the soil beneath their feet. Ìý
It’s important, and we seem to be forgetting just how much.Ìý
Intentional efforts to create urban gardens are meant not only to beautify neighborhoods and rehabilitate unused spaces, but also to encourage people to become part of the process; the clearing, planting and care of a garden as a way of connecting them to living spaces. In many places the results have gone beyond flowers and vegetables. It has raised increasing numbers of volunteers, built community, and introduced new generations to gardening for the very first time.Ìý
But it isn’t just urban areas in need of this experience. Regrettably, even those who live in rural, agriculturally-based communities are becoming increasingly disconnected from the land and have little awareness of what it takes to grow crops. I am among them. But I’m learning.Ìý
The breadth of knowledge required by those who farm the land is vast. They are experts in crop science, topography, climate, weather, inputs, machinery, technology, history, economics and more. We would do well to show greater respect and acknowledgement of the importance of what they do. Ìý
We idolize and seek to please those that entertain us, yet pay much less attention to those who grow and raise the food that feeds us. Which would you rather do without?Ìý
Perhaps the best place to start is to reconsider, or maybe experience anew, the incredible potential that exists within the soil. Whether you plant pumpkins or peonies or simply want to play, we need to spend time appreciating the land under our feet. We have become really good at washing up so let’s go out and get our hands dirty. That’s my outlook.Ìý
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