So I started a gardening festival.
Seems like an odd thing to do when you’re kinda busy with raising kids, and chasing puppies, and managing a hectic workload.
But I had one of those whooshes of inspiration (that some people call the muse) and I felt compelled. Maybe even propelled.
Well, because I love it. That’s the easy part.
But also because it’s one of the few things in this world that is only good.
Sure, there’s failure. There’s death. There’s the destruction of a new puppy, or a caterpillar infestation.
There’s the stink of blood and bone, and the mud and sweat of digging.
But there’s something innocent about gardening. Something practical and old-fashioned. It connects us to our grandparents, our culture, and our home soil.
Watering helps me switch off my brain. I look up at the sky, I feel the breeze, I look at what’s sprouting in the garden.
Planting seeds and seedlings is an act of hope.
Finding new things growing in the compost is like discovering treasure. I’m not always sure what it is but it’s exciting to find out.
My garden is an experimental space where I grow food and I try to create beauty from wildly unpredictable material: life itself.
So that’s why gardening. I want to share this gift, this joy, this obsession.
I hope you will come and join me.