Sacred Gardening

It’s time.

Our late frost-free date coincides with tax day, but I cannot wait until mid-April. Now it is time to start seeds in the greenhouse, to thank the earth for what she has given, to awaken the garden.

Usually, my seeds go in by Valentine’s Day. Just keep in mind that in 2009-2010, the Mid-Atlantic actually had a seasonably cold winter. It was not freakish; this range of temperatures has been our historical average, though El Niño meant that we got more moisture and thus more snow.

It was a blessing, since we did not get the up-and-down bounces that shock our beehives into activity too early, so the foragers leave and burn energy when nothing is in bloom, and the queen begins to lay eggs to make young mouths that cannot be fed.

So  yes, I’m thankful for the winter. I’m more thankful for spring, the way our ancestors must have felt–and the bees still feel–when the cold relaxed and the time of want was behind them.

Working with wonders the ancients could not have imagined, I use a combination of spiritual and technological methods to get the garden ready for the harvest. First, I mulch any fallen leaves that I did not grind up in autumn, and then I turn them back into the flower beds carefully, so I don’t break the stalks of the daffodils that are coming up now.

Then I walk the bounds of the garden with my staff, tapping each tree and saying words such as “awaken and join the dance of the summer!” or “Old oak, we need your shade come July! Join us here and awaken.”

There are many words one could use, but I’ve heard this salutation of the trees called “vital” by some who walk an earth-centered path. I rather like it.

My other jobs involve fixing tools, changing oil, sharpening blades, and doing wood-work with fences, edging, and twigs. I mend whatever supports and untreated fencing I can, and the rest goes to kindling or woodchips. A new heavy-duy chipper meant for our farm (but living in town for a few weeks) lets me chip what I want to compost for mulch next year (note: new wood chips steal nitrogen until they cure). With my pole-saw I cut and craft wattling from shoots of Crape Myrtle, to slow down the four-footed theives.

It’s not, however, time to turn the soil; the sudden warmth tempts us, but digging when the soil is too wet makes a clay pot that will bind roots and stunt a plant. Planting when it is too early may blast a seedling. So for now, keep the plants in the greenhouse!

When I am done with these simple chores, from the center of the garden, near our sundial, I give thanks to each element and tap my staff to salute the garden again.

My your growing season be plentiful with harvest and with joy.  See you at Herbs Galore in Maymont, in late April, when it will be time to dig and plant in profusion.

No, Zeus does not have a blog. And Hera does not Tweet about Zeus’ latest trysts with mortal women.

But as I wanted to check the differences between Kairos and Chronos, this site came up: Theoi Greek Mythology Anthology.

It’s a wonderfully prepared and written source. I particularly like the entries on the primevals, the old gods who made the cosmos.

The image above is Chronos / Aion, holding the wheel of the Zodiac in his hand.

Late-winter blessings, all! Soon I’ll write about the first signs of spring I’m seeing in our gardens.

There’s a manger under our tree. In it you’ll find a little baby, anxious mother and father, one forlorn looking wise man (the other two having vanished en route to my inheriting his family heirloom).  You’ll also find the most important accessories of all: the shepherds and animals that connect the birth of the Christians’ savior to the world of nature.

There are no angels or halos in my manger.  If any of the figures had come with halos, I’d have removed them as surely as a Presbyterian-minister friend removed the halo from the Saint Francis I gave him long ago, when I was still quasi-Catholic.  “I love the man, not some saint,” he told me and I agreed, adding something like “and I love how he loved nature.”

It’s that closeness to the season, and how Jesus’ birth coincides with the birth of another source of light–the life-giving sun–that still draws me to Christmas.  I’ve always liked the restrained display of small lights–not the baffling and ugly lightgasms that mock the season and waste energy.  The quiet and reflective carols, from “Silent Night” to “God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen” and “Oh Come Oh Come Emmanuel,” were the compelling ones to me, when I was a little child in church.

Jesus kept his Christmas rather simple, as a message against excess. We all can, too. If many non-spiritual people–and not a few of faith–have become caught up in the commercial orgy of American Christmas, we don’t need a Recession to remind us to practice the simplicity of a less stressful, saner season of returning light. I’ll shout into the whirlwind here, with some ideas that can reconnect us with the real spirit of Christmas.

Try these next year, if it’s already too late. And let others know that you’ve changed your habits. I don’t know how many people say “I love that idea” when I tell them.

• No cards: I don’t spend money or waste paper on these, though I might e-mail a message with a photo to a few good friends. Unless you enjoy spending hours addressing cards, why do this?
• Gifts of time and labor: My father never accepted gifts from others. I used to wash my dad’s car and give it a full detailing on a warm day not long after Christmas.  Do something similar for those  you love, instead of buying them something they don’t need.  As we become organic farmers, I can imagine that the small trickle of gifts of honey from our beehives, preserves from our  garden, and more will become our primary gifts to others. I just took one friend a load of seasoned firewood. I’ll cook meals for others I care for. Those are great gifts this time of year.
• Take Walks: They are free and attune you to the subtleties of the cold season. We are not very social, so this is a season when we don’t go to a bunch of parties. Instead, we go to the James Center to see the lights and have a drink nearby, especially if there is some snow on the ground. We also walk our neighborhood and others just to look at the lights and decorations.
• Help the Animals: Even my nemesis, the gray squirrel, gets a few treats from me. We put out plenty for the birds, too. Do the same and watch them gather to delight your days.
• Noting the Changes: My Garden Book, where I keep track of planting, harvests, weather, and other events, marks the first day I note the light growing longer. I also note clear mornings or evenings when I see the Antitwilight: the long shadow climbing the sky opposite the sunrise or sunset.  It’s the very shadow of Mother Earth. Look for it and more in the still skies of January.

So enjoy the silence and repose of the time right after the crazy gifting and returning end. With our seasonally normal–and not freakishly ruined–winter weather so far, you’ll have cold to focus you, crisp air to thrill and awaken your senses on a walk, and snow to delight your child inside.

And may you indeed have a blessed Christmas.