I lived in the city growing up, in a top floor apartment above my paternal grandparents. Our yard was 2/3 concrete, but my mother made the other 1/3 look like a lush, verdant paradise. She had a square garden alongside the driveway, couldn’t have been more than 4’x4′, and I was always amazed at how many blooms were born out of such a small space. There were also pots and planters all over the yard, clustered in colorful groups of 3 or more. Flowering trees and shrubs. Annuals alongside perennials. I wish I had been self-aware enough to take pictures back then.

There was a lot of ugly residing in the walls of our house. Ugly energy. Ugly words. Ugly relationships. Ugly addictions and coping mechanisms. I didn’t think much about it then, and I have never asked her about it, but I think gardening was her way of surrounding us with beauty—her way to remind us that you could have a positive influence on the world around you, no matter what your inner world looked like. Despite her best efforts, she would never have been able to insulate us from what was happening on the inside, so she likely used her energy to surround us with beauty and peace on the outside. Her gardens were like a tranquil moat before you entered the dragon’s lair. And, I will have to ask her, but I think gardening was one of the things that kept her hanging on through those years. It was probably her therapy, her coping mechanism. Her way to add beauty to an environment that was so cruel and unyielding.

Fast forward about 30 years: I was thinking about this while I puttered around my yard watering my flowers this morning. I have a morning ritual at this time of year. Upon waking (and sometimes after the gym), before the sun gets too high in the sky, I make my way out to the yard and I slowly make my way around the gardens. I inspect the health of my plants, I give the ones that are thirsty a drink, and I might cut a bouquet or two. I listen to the birds chirp and the bees buzz. I touch, I feel, I smell. It’s an all-you-can-eat buffet for my senses—no cup of coffee could do for me what this time in my gardens does. It simultaneously grounds and energizes me.

During my rounds this morning, I got to thinking: connection to the natural world is a big part of my life. But why?

Maybe it’s because the morning light against a pale pink peony petal is breathtakingly beautiful. And the fragrance as I brush up alongside them is heady and inviting. Maybe it’s also because peonies remind me of my wedding day (and my yard is FULL of them), which still remains one of the happiest days of my life. I like to remind myself of happy things on a regular basis—it’s one of the keys to my sunny disposition.

Gardening reminds me to keep my instant gratification tendencies in check. I planted these hollyhocks (center image above) three years ago—three consecutive years of the groundhogs eating them to a nub—and I am finally going to witness a full bloom (fingers crossed…I am so close). That feels like a win to me! Despite doing something a long time ago, I am going to finally see the fruits of my labor. What a fantastic life metaphor! Plant the seeds and wait…the harvest WILL come eventually.

The garden reminds me to slow down. And to notice the little things I often miss during the hectic pace of everyday American life. I could have sat here and stared at these puddle-filled lupine leaves all morning. I gazed at the reflection they cast. I wondered if any tiny winged creatures would use them as a bird bath. I took lots of pictures of them. I watched how the puddles would roll and shift as the breeze blew through. This was a phenomenal few moments of peace and tranquility for me today. 

The garden reminds me that ALL living creatures are interdependent. My peonies would not bloom without the help of the ants and the yellow-jackets that eat the sugary coating off the buds. The bees pollinate the plants and pollination is needed for healthy crops. The plants needs sun and water and fertile soil. Our air needs trees to remove toxins. Trees need light. Countless species count on the trees for shelter. It’s all connected. WE are all connected.

I wish more people saw things this way, instead of raping and poisoning the soil, polluting the air and water, and cutting down all the trees. Not to mention the human side of things where we could benefit from reminding ourselves that we are interdependent, too. 

I view my time in the garden as a catalyst for my own growth. It helps me looks at things in a whole new way. It lends me new viewpoints—ant’s eye view one minute and bird’s eye view the next—switching up my lens helps me keep it all in perspective. 

The garden is an indespensible and trusted source of inspiration for my art. It reminds me how beautiful the natural world is. As I do my daily yard-walks and inspections, they evoke feelings of both frailty and strength. The garden, and nature as a whole, is so paradoxical and complex, yet also so simple and uncomplicated. Everything makes sense out here. 

It probably stands to reason that even though my mom’s life was a hell of a lot different than the one I have created for myself, I bet we chose to garden for many of the same reasons. The mindfulness. The meditative state of mind. The peace, the beauty, the awe, the wonder, and so much more. I think it’s time I asked her…

Get out there, people! Reconnect with the world around you. Allow your mind to wander. Think thoughts you might not think in your cubicle or when chauffering your kids around. Don’t have a garden of your own? Admire others’ gardens when you are on a walk. Stop to smell that flower. Find a patch of grass and sink your bare feet into it (and then check yourself for ticks). Or BUY some flowers, support a local farm, and then thank the people who do the work of making this world a more beautiful place.

We can learn a lot from nature. Truly.