When the world grows rich and wild

I want to be there.

April 20 was opening day of the Northside Community Garden and I felt both elation and some consternation. Remember Plot 56? Last year I waitlisted myself for a plot in a fit of impulsivity and ended up with one toward the end of June. Reader, the end of June in Montana is no time to be trying to grow some stuff. You basically have 10 weeks until first frost. Some stuff grows well, though: weeds.¹ And weeds especially thrive in the walkways where other plants aren’t busy taking up space and nitrogen. My walkways² were so overgrown all summer that’s basically all I dealt with, while watching my cute mini-pumpkins, a few transplanted tomatoes, and a single row of scarlet zinnias thrive. This year I was determined to manage those walkways early.

April 20 was cold and windy. Do you know me? I hate wind. So I didn’t visit the garden until April 24. But that day was seasonably warm and dry and threaded into a beautiful evening. I donned my orange bibs, chicken-printed gardening shoes, and headed out. The enormous community garden is located just a few blocks from my house, so convenient! I usually walk.

I chose the worse of the two walkways to start with. I pulled a large fork and a bucket out of the shed, routed to plot 56, and surveyed the task grimly. One high note, my daughter and I had planted garlic and tulips last fall, and it was all up! I had something to work for, someone to not disappoint. I started digging.

Duluth should give us some free bibs for this legit selfie.

Shortly into the task I lifted my head and spotted two other women nearby. One, in green bibs, was working her soil. Another, in berry-colored bibs, inspected the square beds in her plot. I called out, “Hey! Look at us in our overalls!” We came together at the intersection of plots 57 and 35 to compare. Duluth? Yes. Matching? Yes. Our names? Ashley, Aicia, Anna. Behold, A-Name Bib Squad! Their plots are directly next to each other’s and mine is one away.

I returned to my work. I’d leverage dirt, grass, roots, and rocks free by angling my fork underneath, for a few feet at a time down the line. Then I’d bend into the walkway, dropping my knees directly into the cleared space by the new area, and dig my fingers underneath any plants and root clods I could feel out. Then I’d lift, sometimes dragging feet of a quackgrass rhizome out without the pop of a root breaking,³ shake loose as much soil as possible, and throw it in the bucket. I emptied that bucket several times before the job was done. Then I went back to the shed to retrieve a shovel and a wheelbarrow, heaped shredded dead tree material into it from the mountain out back, and proceeded to mulch the absolute shit out of the two walkways in my jurisdiction.

Standing at the intersection of exhaustion and pride. Plot 56, north and west walkways = complete. Now, to manage the actual plot.

As I worked, I thought how much my body missed this movement through the cold months of dormancy. The feeling I get down low, close to the earth, being literally grounded in the labor, it all contributes to a sense of wholeness. Wholesomeness. I delight in the smell of the soil and the way sparrows flit about seeking treats, the sun’s low slant at the hours of dusk while I pull grass hanks, and the flecks of dirt that spray up and stick to my sweaty forehead. When I finished it was too dark to continue into the plot, and I felt disappointed. I’m eager for the next foray, after the coming week’s rain and travels. I crave more time with my knees in the dirt, pressing my fingers into roots and pulling forth new life.

When the world grows rich and wild, I want to be there.

And with the world, I am reawakening, and growing sweetly wild myself.

This crow swooped down to inspect my work. I’ve been trying to befriend the crows in my neighborhood by dropping nuts on the sidewalk every day, so this is attention I’ll take (even if he seemed a little overly scrupulous in his review).

The Other Kingdoms

Consider the other kingdoms. The
trees, for example, with their mellow-sounding
titles: oak, aspen, willow.
Or the snow, for which the peoples of the north
have dozens of words to describe its
different arrivals. Or the creatures, with their
thick fur, their shy and wordless gaze. Their
infallible sense of what their lives
are meant to be. Thus the world
grows rich, grows wild, and you too,
grow rich, grow sweetly wild, as you too
were born to be.

--Mary Oliver

1. And maybe you think weeds should be allowed to grow, and I’m not disagreeing. I love the yellow dandelions and their bold, huge leaf bases, and johnny jump-ups with their frantically cheerful faces. But the community garden people want you to keep your walkways and plots weed-free and they will send you relentless reminder emails to please clear your weeds, and I guess if you live in a society and you don’t have the time or energy to fight The Man and maybe these are just nice garden people…well, you just do what they say.

2. each gardener is responsible for maintaining the walkways to the north and west of their plot.

3. absolutely one of the most satisfying sensations available to a gardener.