Coming Home to the Earth
Garden 2025
I wake early on summer mornings prompted by a chorus of birds welcoming the light. On these special mornings, I grab my coffee and step outside, barefoot on the land. I quietly move up the 100-year-old concrete steps to a path leading into my garden. Into sweet morning solitude.
The garden glows as the sky brightens and the world transitions from darkness into soft, diffused, golden light. Dew glistens around me, bathing the buds and blossoms and spider webs. I sweep it from a chair as I find my place within the beauty, color and magic of the world surrounding me.
Some mornings I sit under the shade of the apple tree in the far back corner near the forget-me-nots. Kuan Yin looking on. This is my time to reflect on my world. Who am I today? What am I carrying that I maybe need to put down? I sit in Silence. Listening with my Heart. Becoming aware of All.
The sounds of nature come alive around me… the birds flutter and cool themselves in the birdbath, the windchimes softly twinkle (or tintinnabulate) like fairy bells in the breeze. A few bees buzz in the lavender maybe having flown miles to find this space, my sanctuary. No outside sounds of traffic. No dogs barking. No children playing. Not yet. Just me in the quiet and tranquility of my garden.
And at my last sip of coffee, I move to greet each flower, each tree, each bud, noticing the subtleties… the romantic fringe of the peonies, the way the sunflowers awaken and turn toward the sun, the spicy fragrance of the arugula, the newborn lilies opening for just a day, the joyful bursts of zinnias and the dramatic reach of the much taller rudbeckia. Each plant with its own unique timing, its own innate wisdom… its own personality. I spend time with each… honoring each essence, each life and the miracles Mother Nature holds.
And as I melt into my heaven on earth, a neighborhood cat comes out from under the hydrangeas stretching and yawning and joining me in my ritual. We take in the quiet of these moments so sweetly in the beauty and extraordinary life that surrounds us.
I hide crystals throughout my garden. Master healers for cleansing the spaces. Nurturing stones that radiate love. Stones for growth and abundance. A surprise when I come upon them later, even for me. And Kwan Yin sits in the shade among the hostas beside a huge rose quartz, reminding me of the compassion I sometimes find hard to summon.
I can get lost in the slowness I find here. The sun rising (or setting), the vastness of the blue sky, the squirrels hurrying somewhere and the six or so neighborhood cats that visit and nap in the shade. The explosions of color can only summon a smile… the yellows, pinks, purples, reds, oranges and then… the whites! The whites that glow in the night. All Medicine for my soul.
In the spring I planted all colors of echinacea for the hummingbirds and butterflies to visit. (And to make a tincture when the roots are ready.) I marvel at these miracles of nature… the hummingbirds impressing me as they dart in and out of the flowers, flying backwards, sideways and sometimes upside down… hovering in midair. These tiny miracles with their jewel-toned bodies, drinking the nectar deep in the flowers, achieving the impossible in flight… an inspiration for those seemingly impossible days. And the delicate white butterflies now (until mid-summer when the monarchs arrive) flutter and dance throughout the garden, embracing every moment of their transformation.
Gardens in Portland are lush. Natural. Overgrown and mostly… wild. I love the wildness. There is a peace beyond peace it brings. A contentment that comes within the natural beauty, the perfect imperfectness I have become a part of… the paths of rocks and gravel, the huge shade trees and the twinkling party lights… the honoring of the land.
And as I wander through my garden, I love the tender soft velvet touch of the lamb’s ear spreading itself outward. Deer medicine. Soft, gentle, sensitive. As opposed to the roses, their thorns tearing at my hands, protecting their beauty. My senses come alive as I rub the leaves of the chocolate mint between my hands. I planted it by the gate… an offering of positive energy to those who enter. Along the walkway I brush past the lavender and my nervous system inevitably settles.
I have planted black-eyed susans, orange poppies, pink and white cosmos, orange and yellow calendula, red bee balm, different shades of yarrow and pink dahlias as big as dinner plates. And this year, evening primrose and nicotiana, both still struggling to take hold. Every year the plants get stronger, bigger and more resilient. The purple lilacs were filled with blossoms this year and sent their fragrance throughout the springtime garden. And the wild geraniums became a soft carpet of green and blue bringing a certain delicate energy as well as definition to the edges along the walkways.
Some plants are just getting started. Some failed to thrive. I am still learning about the climate of the northwest. But things can grow very big here… or not at all. I am continually trimming the dappled willow and forsythias that weekly reach over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. I planted ‘little’ bear magnolias in our front hellspace for this reason. And they have rewarded me with beautiful blossoms now, in July.
The garden was neglected and overgrown with not much life when we moved here two years ago. Weeds, remains of plants, no life left in a hard, clay soil. I have nurtured the land and brought life back. Rich life unwinding. With a rhythm of color, texture, shapes and dreams. Such love now in the plants and in the soil and in the air. And within me. I have created an altar for our Mother Earth. A continual prayer of gratitude. A place for daydreaming. And a sanctuary …for bees, hummingbirds, butterflies, cats …and me.