June Musings - notes from the garden.
As I sit here writing, I can hear the welcome patter of rain on the window, the birds trilling and chattering as they wake, and the soft, comforting purr of our adopted cat Tiger who is sleeping peacefully at my side. Looking out the window I can see the cows trotting across the field that nestles against the back garden and the trees swaying as the cool wind drifts through them, carrying the rain between the leaves and across the grass. A few years ago, waking up to rain would have brought a cloud of dismay and disappointment to my morning, opportunities for outdoor exploits ruined by the weather. Now, as I watch the fat drops of rain roll down the window pane, I smile and feel a wave of anticipation and excitement - the plants really need this and the deluge brings with it the hope of continued life and abundant harvests. Instead of ruminating on the greyness of the day and the annoyance of the weather limiting what I wanted to achieve, I wonder how I can use the time in my day to nurture myself and give myself time to grow.
In the years since I began growing my own food and flowers, I have felt a huge shift in myself, in my attitudes and in my approach to so many things in life. Gardening has taught me patience and resilience. It has taught me that there is a joy in the waiting, that there is hope in even the most desolate moments, and that even what may seem like the smallest action can ripple into huge change. Where I once took nature for granted, I now know I have a responsibility to care for it, to nurture it and to protect it. I also have that same responsibility when it comes to myself - to care for, nurture and protect myself, mind, body and spirit. If I don’t look after myself, how can I care for the earth?
For me, June brings with it a sense of excitement and anticipation - most of my plants are in the ground and growing stronger each day. As they do, the promise of delicious fresh food gets closer and closer, and I find I can’t help but harvest a few tiny, early leaves from the kale and chard plants to keep us going while we wait for more abundant harvests to fill the basket with each evening. The mange tout are swelling and I spend warm, sun filled evenings picking purple sugar snap peas to add to our dishes or to preserve for future meals. I feel an immense sense of peace sitting on my little patch of Devon earth as the sun falls lower in the pinking summer sky, enjoying the evening sun warming my skin and the bird song soothing the brunt of a busy day. This small space, brings so much joy.
And yet, in the midst of a draught, this small patch of Devon that I get to call mine, needs more nurturing than ever before. Plants that are usually coping well in these early summer months are bolting in the soaring temperatures, and the earth that is usually the rich signature red of Devon, is cracked and dry, greying in the searing heat. The earth needs water, it needs a long, cool, thirst-quenching drink more often than it usually would at this time of year. While some might find this more regular watering a mundane and monotonous task, I find it comforting. The repetitive rhythm of filling the watering cans, carrying them up the green path to my allotment, and emptying them onto the desperate soil soothes my mind. It helps me to process the events of the day and gives me a chance to clear my head. So while I dance and celebrate when a heavy rainfall fills the sky in brief interludes at the moment, I am grateful for the more frequent opportunities to engage in my evening mindfulness at the plot.
