I'd plant myself with poetry,
spread seeds in fine lines,
work the earth with my bare hands,
feel the pulse of seasons.
I'd rock myself to sleep
with the sound of rain,
harvest and sow together,
so my earth would always be productive,
each fruit a seed,
each squash filled with promise of new plants.
When the drought time came,
I'd let my fields fall fallow,and wait.
I'd be a riot of color,fragrance, taste!
I'd plant lavender and lemon verbena,
rainbows of poppies.
I'd ply myself with seasons of sage, basil, oregano,
and be aware of thyme.
In winter frost,
I'd dream of spring's new shoots,
and in spring's first daffodils
I'd see the deep shades of fall.
Always I'd be ready for mystery,
and the delight of unexpected miracles.
I'd feel the power
that drives the plant to fruit.
I'd work and I'd wait,
and love those fine lines and rounded seeds,
those deeply lobed leaves,
billowing colors,
of my garden
myself.
Hey, I found this poem- so apt for what we are doing :)
Weeder's Thoughts
I have raked the soil and planted the seeds
Now I've joined the army that fights the weeds.
For me no flashing saber and sword,
To battle the swiftly marching horde;
With a valiant heart I fight the foe,
My only weapon a trusty hoe.
No martial music to swing me along,
I march to the robin redbreast song.
No stirring anthem of bugle and drum
But the cricket's chirp and the honey bee's hum.
No anti-aircraft or siren yell
But there's Trumpet-creeper and Lily-bell.
With a loving heart and a sturdy hand,
I defend the borders of flower-land;
While high over Larkspur and Leopardsbane,
A butterfly pilots his tiny plane;
But I shall not fear his skillful hand,
My enemy charges only by land.
Would those who lead nations in war and hate
But lay down their guns at some garden gate,
There, bury- their bombs and their bloody deeds,
And join the grand army that's fighting the weeds.
-ALMA B. Eymann
That said, here's the big picture...
Make time for the garden
You have to make time in your garden,
not only for working but just to see.
Not only for planting or harvesting or weeding,
but to smell the freesias,
to look at the new rose leaves
admire the new growth
thrusting out in strong red leaves,
to see the white columbine
blooming behind the flowering quince,
the lavender ageratum at the base of the snapdragons,
the grape leaves bursting from the seams
of last year's vines,
pink tulips about to open inside green sheathes,
and most amazing of all
the purple orchid sprays
in that pot you thought was dead and dry.
You have to walk through the garden
and say hello to each newly leafing tree,
caress the buds,
and try to see it whole, your garden,
or as much as you can-
how different greens complement each other,
set off the yellows and flame into reds,
how daffodils and star magnolias
turn dried brown leaves into background
for their spring painting.
So don't go into you garden looking for weeds,
which will only make you bend down
and miss the point.