What I Notice When Walking Through the Garden

7 Days Post-op

Typing isn’t comfortable quite yet, just shy of a week post-surgery, so this post isn’t going to be long. I’m doing okay. The surgery was more intense than anticipated, and recovery is taking a little longer, too. The physical toll was [somewhat] expected, the emotional toll less so. Technically, I’m cancer free after this procedure—the surgeon called to say the margins are clear and the only thing left for this particular issue is getting the surgical wound to heal properly (and skin exams every three months for a period of years). But I still feel a little emotionally wrung out, probably because this diagnosis came right as I was looking for a break, a true vacation, after a year and a half of one hard thing after another.¹ I had a week off already planned in late June, but that week landed right after being handed this new hard thing.²

Anyway, I’m trying to follow my own advice and ask for help when needed and rest more than I think I should.³

I’ve been on a few slow walks and out to wander through the garden a few times. The sunflowers tower over me, and there are beans dripping from the now-collapsed bean teepee that’s leaning against the fence. Cherry tomatoes insist on growing even though their parent plants are turning yellow, and there are enough hot peppers to make a vat of salsa. And okra, eggplants, winter squash, pumpkins, potatoes, carrots, a forest of kale and all sorts of flowers, along with more zucchini than anyone could eat. Right now, and for the next few weeks, all I’ll do is wander through the weedy rows, but that’ll have to be enough. I’m thankful the plants are doing most of the work at this point in the growing season.

Recovery takes longer 
than we want it to take 
but sunflowers still stand tall
turning toward the light
inviting us to do the same. 

Here’s a brief excerpt from Woodland Manitou in honor of the weedy unwanted bits that come with being alive.⁴ Here’s to letting the unwanted be what it is and finding the life that remains.

But as the season continues, I find myself looking at the weeds differently. They are a tangled, unorganized, wild and motley crew, to be sure. I didn’t want them. But they are thriving. And so are the vegetables and fruits that I did want. Everything out in that garden, planned or not, wild and cultivated, is full of life.

Somewhere along the way, the garden and I came a sustainable balance. All of that work that I did early in the season was enough when I added acceptance of the things that I didn’t want. My efforts prepared the planned garden plants to thrive — even alongside the bits of wild and weedy growth that became their neighbors.

So it is with our human lives. When we can spend energy cultivating our internal growth, whether that comes in the form of reading poetry or practicing yoga or promoting sustainability or fostering forgiveness, we set ourselves up for being able to accept whatever comes into the space that we inhabit. We can thrive when weeds mar the view and perhaps even start to see the beauty in the wildly tangled vines as they mesh with our own. We can let our feelings speak what they need to speak without judging them, and we can learn to find solace in the growth that can happen even in the midst of things that we didn’t think we wanted. We can remember that figuring out how to live in the space between what is wild and what is cultivated is an essential component of living in a way that honors the earth and all of the life that wants to exist here.

As the garden season rolls on, I give thanks for the vegetables and herbs and fruits of my labor, and I give thanks for the opportunity to exist alongside the wildness that still thrives even as my human life impacts the earth beyond what I can see in my everyday routine. I remember that hard, honest work and acceptance go hand in hand. And I remember that I want to live in a world where weeds still sometimes get the last word.

from Cold Spring Hallelujah

1. Job loss, multiple major family illnesses/injuries, the death of a pet, major flooding issues and subsequent major home renovations, not being able to find a new job for nine months, and the death of a family member.

2. Obviously, there are much more dire issues in the world—I’m fortunate to have things like health insurance and a job that offers PTO in the first place and a place to call home that isn’t in a war zone.

3. Which is often—only having one working arm is quite a challenge. It’s also a challenge when the dressing isn’t supposed to get wet or sweaty and it’s August and you like to be outside. And when you want to get back to your usual routine with activity or at work and you just aren’t ready yet.

4. It’s also copy and paste-able.