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flamingswordI miss gardening.
I miss being up to my wrists in dirt, clay on my knees and elbows and, somehow, face. I miss the planning and design work that goes into knowing your growing space, its strengths and it's needs, and planning plantings and watering methods accordingly. I miss the back breaking work of amending soil, breaking up clay with compost and topsoil so that it doesn't destroy tender roots if you forget to water for three days.
I miss using a skill that was deeply implanted in my history. My people are farmers, and our roots are deep in the earth. I miss that feeling of connection with the earth, and my history, and myself.
I miss me.
I miss being up to my wrists in dirt, clay on my knees and elbows and, somehow, face. I miss the planning and design work that goes into knowing your growing space, its strengths and it's needs, and planning plantings and watering methods accordingly. I miss the back breaking work of amending soil, breaking up clay with compost and topsoil so that it doesn't destroy tender roots if you forget to water for three days.
I miss using a skill that was deeply implanted in my history. My people are farmers, and our roots are deep in the earth. I miss that feeling of connection with the earth, and my history, and myself.
I miss me.