A garden is a grand teacher. It teaches patience and careful watchfulness; it teaches industry and thrift; above all, it teaches entire trust.
Gertrude Jekyll
My
parents used to have a garden in the backyard. This bit of earth was designed
as their personal heaven. Nothing could interrupt the chemistry that existed in
our land.
During
the fall and winter, it was an empty dirt box. No life, no aromas, just cold
and bare. During the spring, I witnessed my parents breathing life into it
again, sorting out the seeds and planting their harvest. Their Earthbox was in
constant, flourishing motion filled with a multitude of fresh fruits and
vegetables.
It
was their private Greek Oasis.
Their
backyard held flowers of various colors and sizes, emitting fragrances that not
even the sweetest perfume could chemically carry. My mother decorated the house
with her flowers and gave them away to friends so their luscious scents could fill their homes. They had fruit trees that decorated our backyard. Pear
trees, apple trees, fig trees and orange trees. My father gently observed their
leaves, their bark, and the fruit blooming. He would pull his chair from the
patio and sit with them, checking their physique, double and triple reviewing if they were healthy.
Eggplants,
tomatoes, scallions, lettuce, cucumbers, onions, cantaloupe, watermelon...my
parents’ hard work was a large part of our family dinners. Any interruption to
mama and baba’s daily production would cause a great upset to them both. For
instance, the heavens would be cursed if any of the vagabond rabbits would eat
their wonderland of production. Should the insects assist in the decay of my
father’s romaine lettuce, his vengeful act was the equivalent to God and the
devil joining hands. If the worms found homes in his pears, my mother was quick
to use her dominant energy to evict them. They equally raised hell if anything,
or anyone, touched their summertime love.
Gardening
wasn’t just a project. This cultivation was cherished, valued time that was
shared together. This designed their unison by actively pursuing a scheme that
only they understood. My father would rush home from work, change into his
gardening clothes, and grab my mother so they can spend hours conditioning
their beloved ground. They sweat their love into the earth.
The
reason my parents began their garden was to remind each other of their personal
goals. It was crucial for them to remember that all things take
struggle: the Earth, their children, their lives. All things. Together, they
eliminated the dust from the terrain by establishing the beauty of their land
for people they mostly care for. It’s a promise of love and deliverance.
They
made their garden exist for purpose. That ambition was greatly valued, for it
created their sector and presented their cultural love. Every seed represented
determination. With every dig, their initiative gained prosperity. Those fruitful
missions breathed accomplishment to their intentions. They targeted their
objectives by marking their own land with a firm togetherness by habitually
working on their progress. They moved together to rectify any messes that were
created, remedying any disturbances in unison, while never being alone.
Mama & Baba's solid field identified their harmony within each other, within themselves. Their marriage was defined by those months of planting and harvesting.
Their love was deeply rooted into their Earth, dreaming of their Ionian Sea,
but were glad to be standing together in unison, on their own shores.
Shouldn’t
we all be so proud to work on something for ourselves, to better who we are,
and to maintain our identities through our projects? In the end, it’s the love
that matters. You and your partner are what matter as you both perform
collectively. Together, you gather the materials to make sure that success is
met. The condition of unity greatly magnifies that there is something much
larger than the self, than mere selfish acts. It’s all about the love and where
the love is going.
How
will it get there? How will you accomplish the discovery of that identifying
love?
Take
a hint from my parents. They found it in their garden.
