The Scent of Dirt

Winter has a tendency to subdue us, slow our lives down a bit. It’s considered the quiet time, like hibernation. We’re less active, and we require more sleep in the cold months.  The bulk of our outdoor activities stop.

We almost forget that there is anything else but cold weather and barren trees. Then Spring sneaks in, silently, like a secret. A little bulb bursting through frosty ground, one at a time, the pecan trees tentatively sprout a few leaves. Then on cue, it explodes around us. Then, the secret becomes a celebration of color, life and growth. The world is throwing its very own party to celebrate itself. “hey, look what I can do!”

Suddenly it’s everywhere you look.

A shock to the system. That sudden saturation of color after a dreary gray winter.  Sort of like being stuck in an airport with a very long layover and suddenly – unexpectedly – you see a fond and familiar face.  You both brighten.

I’ve woken up in that re-emergent world  eager to put my hands in the dirt as soon and as often as possible. Some people need the sea, or a body of water to balance and quiet the mind. Others, wide open spaces. For me, I’ll take green grass, clean dirt, and the serene earthiness of it all to re-connect.  It’s the best therapy in the world.

You know, only a gardener can know there is such a thing as ‘clean dirt’. And even now, I can almost smell it.

Spring is a time for rebirth, another chance. It breeds hope…

I was so sure my Fire Leaf Maple in the front yard was dead. A victim of neglect thanks to my former tenants and a fickle winter.   Now I watch with utter joy as each leaf springs green and optimistic from its branches.

Regardless of the winter of our life, spring is always comes again at the end to greet us.  Maybe that is winter’s purpose, to teach patience, and Spring’s is to reward it.

Spring brings something new and reinforces the old.  One pays homage to the other, respectfully, in a cyclic fashion, just as the cycles of life itself.

Years ago my mother gave me a little cutting of jasmine that I planted near a wrought iron fence that borders by porch. Since then it has bound and wound its way to cover the entire twenty foot span of fence.

It started off tenuous and fragile. Yet life and tending have allowed it to flourish. It shows its appreciation with trimmings I can now with friends and family.

The cycle continues.

Life and tending allow us to flourish. We’ve all some branches to prune, some roots to extend, some yet-unfound fruit or flower to exhibit to the world. There is a time to grow, to sow, and to reap harvest.

Every Spring, we all watch as trees grow taller, stronger, deeper.  As I do, I see promise and hope.

Ten years a go I would not have been able to feel the simple pleasure of watching a plant grow. Now, its one of my favorite things to do.  Each passing Spring reinforces - for me at least -  the real passage of time.

I don’t count my years on my face. I count it in the inches taller my plum trees have grown, the distance my jasmine has traveled.  

Spring is both chaotic and beautiful all at once.  Yet in spring we are able - for a moment - to breathe with the rhythm of life, as we stop… and smell the roses.