I turned to my dear friend Betsy, who loaned me all her best gardening books. (Confession: It took me years to return her books. A grave mistake from a bibliophile like me. Sorry, Betsy.) She told me what grows in Nashville. She made me memorize the last frost date for this region — April 15. And then when I was ready, she took me to Home Depot and showed me what I needed to use to amend the soil. She bought me plants and gardening tools; she brought me seedlings from her yard. Most importantly, she brought her shovel to my house, and together we dug out the rocks and the weeds rooted deep in the ground. We tended to the established plants that were already doing just fine, thank you very much. And with tender care, we placed bare hands into the soil and planted what would be new. When she left that day, I watered and watched with anticipation for signs of life and growth.
Shortly thereafter, life sprang from the ground. In seemingly no time at all, fiery orange and yellow marigolds and sky-high, golden sunflowers rose happily in my yard, speaking as clear as can be about the beauty of possibility and hope fulfilled. Through those hot, summer days my yard was alive with all sorts of good things, leaving me with smiles and sweet dreams of life beyond the fence. Flowers are magical that way.
Life changed, several times over, and I’m a little sad to report I did not keep up that garden. In fact I’ve not gardened in years, hence the occasional gardener label. Nevertheless, that first adventure has stayed with me. Its lessons remain.
In the Therapy Room
I think about gardening often when I am outside and when I am in the therapy room. Just as flowers push up from beneath the dirt, so growth often comes from underneath. I see my clients tending to that which is already doing fine, digging out the rocks and the weeds, planting new things, and waiting to see what will arise. Sometimes I come alongside them with a shovel and dig. Sometimes I plant seeds. Sometimes I share something I know about the acidity of the soil, or the way in which the sun will come over the yard in the afternoon. Sometimes I notice something unfamiliar or troublesome poking up from the dirt or hovering around the plants. Sometimes I jump up and down and say, “Look at what beautiful thing is emerging over there! Look what you have grown!” And sometimes, I wait with hope.
Is there something you’re hopeful for?
I’m a therapist in Nashville who works with women to cultivate all kinds of beautiful growth. If you’re interested to learn more about how I can help, please contact me.