GARDEN THERAPY

 

Front Courtyard

Isolated in a country parsonage, after our second child was born, I had the post-partum blues.  Winter in a bungalow without insulation and one icy bathroom, made caring for two in diapers harder than I expected. Sleeping was more like waking.  Anyone else remember days like that?  

As soon as the ground thawed a neighboring farmer plowed a garden for me. Not having any idea that planting was the easy part, I put in more seeds than we could possibly harvest.  Mounds of zucchini, trailing cucumbers, tomatoes that would have lost any competition . . .  I couldn't have had better therapy.  Same for the children.  They rolled around bundled in parkas until the temperatures rose.  

Hoeing and digging, I found out, are mindful--a word we didn't use then.  It takes you out of yourself.  The children felt it too.  Outside they didn't fuss.  They sang songs and shared their toys while the cat chased garden snakes out of the strawberry patch and the dog ran in circles. 

In the next house in a different part of the country I planted flowers and bushes instead of vegetables. But the therapy was the same.  Hours planning beds, pruning bushes and raking leaves.  Mindful repetitive actions that caused stress to evaporate.  While I raked, the kids swung back and forth, pumping up and down in graceful rhythmic motion.  It was one of the best times of life. 

Gardening is still therapy.  If you garden, I bet you agree.  Where but outdoors do our senses lie so open to the quivering universe?  Pain and anxiety--whether physical or emotional--are healed in the garden. Not quickly, but steadily.  The more time we spend in nature, the better we feel. 

There are times that I feel the pull of sadness until I go out; I wonder how many of us feel the same.  Growing older, I may just tidy the courtyard, sweep the paths, hose the deck or dead-head the plants, whatever my unreliable back allows.  Somehow, placing our feet on solid ground, our hands in the loam, our ears and breath straining with the wind in the trees . . . is where perspective settles fears.

Most recently gardening has been an escape from the daily upheaval.  There are no news bulletins where I clean up after a storm.  Intrusive thoughts keep their distance from wildflowers.  Even chronic sorrows diminish.  When we are outdoors, all that we love and appreciate seems to move forward in our hearts. We come inside renewed.  

Therapy is "treatment intended to relieve or heal."  So, yes, gardens do that, and without side-effects or contraindications.  If I were to pray about this, it would be a very simple prayer, "Thank you God for this space of seeds and flowers, herbs and trees, rain and sun and shade.  Thank you for a place where we can step out our door and feel your healing warmth.  Thank you for all the ways we can work in your creation:  planting, watering, weeding, harvesting and just being with all our senses open.  Thank you for in these simple ways relieving our cares and healing our hearts. AMEN."       

                                                               In peace, Nina Naomi