My Mindful Garden
Gardens are crucial for families.
Not only places where children play and vegies grow, they connect us to the earth, providing us with spaces of peacefulness and nurturing, celebration and remembrance.
If you are reading this it is likely that you have a need for some space where you and your family can relax and reconnect; I would like to help you create that space of nurture and nature that family and friends can share, grow and learn.
Gardens have always been an integral part of my life. As a child, I would spend hours studying the tiny goings on – the unfurling of petals and emerging of bulbs.
Everything happened in slow motion.
Gardens were also a place for celebration – Uncles and Aunts were married by a sea of pink azalea, Christmas lunches were held beneath branches laden with plums, birthdays were spent gamboling on manicured lawns & my children all had their naming days surrounded by flowers and foliage.
So, gardens represent significant events and celebration in my life.
When my marriage of 20 years ended 3 years ago, I had to leave my beautiful garden – A garden I designed and planned around my children, where my daughter took her first steps and my sons learned to back flip on the trampoline and shoot hoops at the ring.
Despite the onslaught from children and chickens, the garden was beautiful and I spent all my spare time tending it.
I left to rent a house with no garden – completely on purpose – I had no energy to nurture anything other than myself, my children and my business.
The emotional upheaval of marriage collapse left me no energy to wander with a hose, no time to be distracted by pigeons gathering twigs for their nest or to watch windflower petals unfurl.
In that house I had no indication of the change of seasons – my courtyard was bereft of vegetation and my windows looked on to neighbouring walls. There was no promise of spring and it slipped through unnoticed into the brief Melbourne summer furnace. There was no brilliant celebration of fall and I missed winter stealing the colour from autumn trees.
I had no excuse to go wandering; saving earthworms or collecting seed heads. No distractions. No nurturing of a garden and no nurturing of self.
It wasn’t until I moved into my current home, a dear little red brick cottage with a perfect sized garden, that I came to understand; I nurture myself when I am in my garden.
I collected seaweed from the local beach and I made a seaweed tea – medicine for soil and plants.
I churned the soil with my bunnies manure, my composted food scraps, bags full of blood and bone and dynamic lifter.
I enriched the soil with these pungeant goodies.
And so I’ve watched the glorious return of worms – the Florence Nightingales of the soil.
The fig tree is weighed down with its emerald jewels and all the bits and pieces of plants donated by friends, clients and neighbours, are thriving. Birds furtively dart about awaiting their morning vegemite crusts.
I am so at peace in my garden.