digging for roots

today i spent the entire afternoon on my hands and knees in the dirt planting my vegetable garden. the weather was hot and the work was strenuous, but there are few things in the world that i love more than sitting in the sun wiggling my toes into the dirt, so overall it was a wonderful afternoon. i finished the day dirty, tired and amazingly satisfied.

crouching there, placing each tiny little plant into the earth, i thought of my mother. when i was growing up, every single saturday morning i can remember found my mom in our back yard, on her knees, messing with her flowers. i would wake up, usually hours after she had, to a pan of bicuits on the kitchen counter, a pitcher of sweet tea on the back stoop and mom, dressed in an old sweatshirt and cutoff jeans with a bandana holding back her hair, half covered by plants somewhere in the yard. she loved her garden, it was her haven. she told me once that that was her release after a long and emotional draining work week, the only time she could really call her own. though at the time i didn't understand how working could be a release from working, now i understand. just the sensation, the satisfaction of doing a job that you want to do, on your own time, in your own way, and for only your own reward, is an amazingly calming thing. gardening makes me happy in a way that few other 'hobbies' can; part of that is the activity itself and part of that is the nostalgia and sense of private indulgence i associate it with.

as i realized how much i share my mother's love of gardening i was faced with the fact that i am like her, and unlike my teenage years, when that would have terrified me, i found that idea very comforting. maybe it's because my parents are gone, but now i'm pleased when i notice their traits in my own actions. it makes me feel closer to them, it reminds me that they were a part of my life and they will always be a part of me. when i catch myself making up silly songs, i remember that i am like my dad. i catch myself making facial expressions that remind me of my mom. i hear the tone of my voice and it sounds like dad. i share both their good traits (curiousity, generosity, friendliness) and their bad ones (arrogance, impatience, lateness), but the important thing is that i am LIKE them, they are still in me. i am their daughter, here or gone, and no amount of time or distance will change that. they are my roots, they are my foundation. though i am my own plant now, producing my own fruit, it is my parents who first helped me grow. to grab for another plant metaphor, i guess the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree.

wow. all of this, found in an eight by four plot of dirt. who'd of thunk it.