For the first time in years, I have dirt under my nails. No, I’m not confessing a personal hygiene problem. I’ve simply become a gardener. Again.
Throughout my boyhood, we planted a garden every year, and my sister and I were annually conscripted for its cultivation. But once I escaped the oppression of my parental overlords, I shook the dirt from my shoes and left my agricultural roots far behind. Until now.
Why did I return to the soil? It’s hard to say precisely. One of my initial incentives was to not only save the planet by growing local, but to save money on expensive vegetables. But then my beloved wife got a massive sliver in her leg in a freak garden-related accident, and now we’ll have to eat a whole lot of zucchini and tomatoes to make up for that $600 emergency room visit.
What it really comes down to, I’ve decided, is that there’s just something about working the soil and planting seeds. I don’t know if anything will actually grow, of course. That’s in the all-powerful hands of the Weather Channel. But I’ve created an environment where amazing things are possible, and it feels good — innately human even — just to get something in the ground.
Over the years, I’ve asked caregivers in all kinds of settings why you do what you do, and have learned that’s your motivation too. You don’t think much about your daily expressions of skill and kindness in terms of a guaranteed outcome or reward.
You just keep your head down and your hands in the dirt, creating a nurturing place where life can blossom, and the opportunity to act and give is incentive enough.
I’m just an amateur, but in the endless circle of life, you’re the ultimate cosmic gardeners. Not every seed you plant will thrive today, but your efforts are being silently multiplied by those you inspire. As others take your place, your compassion will be returned to you in a bountiful harvest.
From the June 01, 2012 Issue of McKnight's Long-Term Care News
