Things Grow Best in Dirt
With a dose of Dad's wisdom and Mom's faith, this isn't your "how to" garden blog . . . it's more like your "what does this have to do with gardening" . . . garden blog.
Mom had aspirations toward religious life before meeting up with Dad . . . and once told me about her early and Mother Theresa-esque desire to serve in an orphanage surrounded by needy babies.
Dad grew up on a farm, and was excellent at getting things to grow. After leaving the family business to pursue the Law, his weekends were spent magically producing flowers and vegetables in the front and back yards.
I've always thought these parental characteristics ironic, especially recalling the amount of time my numerous siblings and I spent toiling or playing in the dirt.
I didn't inherit Mom's will to raise a multitude of children, but I have been drawn to gardening, even though I only have a small fraction of Dad's green thumb.
Some days, while ripping boxwoods out of the ground, or gently tugging weeds while a breeze full of wind chime wafts over me, I am reminded of lessons from my youth.
Thinking these lessons amusing, and perhaps of value, I've decided to use this space to commit my recollections to the impermanence of time.