Although many of the local greenhouses have been open for several weeks, I’ve not indulged in the pleasure of a visit just yet. It will be awhile before Alaska’s cool ground warms enough for the tender young plants reared in a nursery. Even so, the long daylight hours and the warmth of the sun make the temptation to dig in the soil this time of year nearly irresistible. While it’s fine to work the soil and prepare beds for planting, woe to the gardener who does not resist the urge to actually put plants in the ground. I’ve learned to stay away from greenhouses until closer to planting season. The flowers and vegetables are far happier and so is my pocketbook when I wait until Memorial Day to put in my pansies and plant my petunias.

                Meanwhile, the gray walls of winter give way to the earthy scent of dirt and the trickle of water in once-frozen creeks. Early blooming daffodils offer a splash of color on south facing flower beds even before the soil is warm or dry enough for serious gardening.

                My son, Erik who is now in his mid-20s, has a passion for gardening. His love affair with soil and seeds began as a young boy. It enthralled him to be able to place a hard dry seed into dirt and watch something green and living emerge from the soil. To discover that the plant could then produce food to eat or a flower to admire was simply magical to him. He always asked to have a section of my gardens to call his own. One year, when he was about nine years old, I let him plant the entire front flower bed. He considered long and hard what he might plant. Should he plant vegetables to eat? Or flowers to adorn the yard? He eventually bought several packets of marigold seeds. He cultivated the soil and then used a hand trowel to draw the word “J-O-Y” in the soil. He proceeded to dump every last seed into his unusually shaped trench.

                “JOY” sprouted two weeks later. He carefully watered the little plants and soon he had more seedlings than he bargained for. I suggested he thin them out, but he did not have the heart to tear out the overgrowth of marigolds. Before they had a chance to bloom, the word “JOY” became a blob of foliage. Even so, we both found great satisfaction in the abundance that he reaped from his idea. I could not help but think of all the parallels to life and love that my young son was learning from his adventures in gardening. Wisdom grows from the soil as surely as do flowers and vegetables.

                Now, Erik and his wife, Ashlee have two little boys of their own. Their family recently picked a single red tomato from a house-grown tomato plant. The tomato had grown as beautiful as a rose and the family plucked it from the spindly plant, divided it into four small pieces and feasted on their harvest.

                In a week or so, I’ll allow myself a field trip to the nursery. The scent of green as I walk in the door will evoke dreams of summer and the taste of sunshine. Something about planting a garden reflects a certain hope for the future. Planting is a commitment to caring. “Yes, I’ll water and weed you.” 

Placing seeds in the ground implies a simple confidence that we will be present for the harvest.

A garden draws from an energy that is bigger and more profound than the daily trappings of our hectic lives. It takes time to tend but somehow the work seems to make time stand still. As we nurture the garden, somehow the garden always seems to return the favor.  And no matter what we decide to plant, in the end we reap a harvest of “JOY.”