my land teaches me to breathe deep in the midst of work schedules.  in the midst of groceries and laundry, shitty diapers and childcare.  bills, flat tires, broken things, arguments with a lover and standoffs with a two year old.  to stop.and look up.  look down.  look deep.  my land reminds me i am a part of not apart; that the birds sailing overhead have things to say, if only i would listen; that miracles are not all durm und strang, but sometimes, simply, the subtle push and reach of green sprouting through the earth. 

most times, actually.

my land allows me room to sway and grow.  a place to dig my roots deep and feast on the goodness below.  my shards turn smooth and the din within quiets when i am up to my wrists in dirt, or sprinkling water on seeds, or hauling hay and bags of compost.  i embody the push and reach, can feel the stretch of bone, the loosen of marrow; on the land

i am truly free.

and what small land it is!  tiny backyard plot, not even really mine, as i am a renter and share our yard with the neighbor next door.  small and fenced in, i can cross its width in 6 long paces and, though the length runs from our front porch to our back bedroom, my son can sprint it easily on his stubby, yet surprisingly competent legs, in the time it takes to say “hey – where’s the baby?”

good thing we keep the gates closed.


my garden


my garden plot is even less grand than the yard it resides in and, still, i am so proud of my first-time-adventure in growing things that are green and do not live inside my body.  sweet peas, spinach, lettuce and chard are all in the ground.  tomato plants surrounded by water tubes to keep the heat are next.  squash in the summer, and herbs; sunflowers as tall as hope with blooms as wide as a smile, too.  right now, the seeds of peas and greens have become sprouts.  i sing songs of thanks as i water them.  it is ironic to me that i love them so much, yet

will eat them

as they grow.  but the relationship i am cultivating with my food, the stuff of nourishment and life, causes me to dance and turn my head towards the sky in gratitude, truly blessed.  and not only blessed by the food that i grow, but the food that grows, 

free of me.  

from the rich dark deep of the soil, without the help of my hand or watering can, the dandelions burst forth, shining.  they are resilient, gorgeous creatures; their roots deep and thick, dripping white and stubborn.  their leaves tangy, their yellow heads sweet; the motto from Turtle Lake

“don’t weed ’em, eat ’em!”

and the fast-becoming-annual Dandelion Festival two of my favorite things in the world.  i’m not sure i know, so much, what a weed is, anymore.  and i appreciate that shift in definition, in what constitutes reality. 

i find myself paying more attention to the moon and my breath.  to my feet on the ground, my soul and my needs.  to presence and truth. 

these are the lessons of my land.

 *in response to the invite posted at