Yesterday morning, I decided that no matter what, that garden was going to get some real weeding work done. And despite everything, it happened. (won't go into details, but I ended up digging in the pouring rain with only the aid of a broken wooden spoon. Quite an amusing sight, really.)
I've become addicted all over again. The feel of the dirt on my hands, the following day's soreness of "real" work, the smell of freshly dug roots, getting to watch things grow, and most of all, the fun surprises of wild plants I find and cultivate.
It does amazing things for the mind too. Like instead of just weeding the garden, I am weeding my brain as well. Things just don't seem to bother me as much and I feel as though I can focus.
Mom says her father was exactly the same way and none of the family quite understood him either.
It's hard work, but spiritual in some way I can't quite describe. Kind of in the same way as when you go hiking to the top of a mountain or when you hear a symphony... as if a little part of you gets closer to God just by being there.
