Oh—I already had some bushes.
And some hostas too.
I really loved the hostas. I could accidentally mow then down and they'd come right up and be beautiful despite me.
But I wanted more.
Now—you have to understand—I'm the guy whose house was always full of
POTS of DIRT.
Well, they started out as potted plants. You know—poinsettias, orchids, mums, ferns ...
They didn't quite make it.
Yeah, yeah, yeah ... I know. Water is kind of important.
I decided to get pets instead. Unlike the potted plants, the pets let me know when they needed water. Usually at 3:00 in the morning.
Okay—if the garden is outside, I figured, the RAIN will water for me.
As it ended up, I had to help. But, at least for me, playing with a hose outside was much more fun than carrying around a plastic watering thingie with rainbows painted on it inside.
Besides—if I angled the hose just right, it made real rainbows. Cool!
I planted mostly perennials. I read up on things, studied the different types of flowers, carefully planned my garden on paper in the wee hours of the night, ordered a bunch of seeds and stuff, and then spent almost an entire vacation digging and planting and creating something new for my yard.
Except, it was August, which is sort of late.
I did have a few pretty things growing by September.
I found out later they were weeds.
And hostas, of course.
But mostly I had, well,
A BUNCH of DIRT.
"You? You're going to plant a garden?"
"You're going to get your hands dirty?"
You're wearing jeans?"
Have you ever noticed that whenever you try to do something new, no matter how much you may enjoy it, and no matter how much you may believe in it, your family and friends seem to go out of their way to make fun of you;
to point their fingers,
to do their best to put you down and make you feel like an idiot?
Here's the dirty little secret:
DO IT ANYWAY!
- The research
- The planning
- The cost
- The hard work
- The new-found excitement
And all I had to show for it was, well,
A BUNCH of DIRT.
How can we ever really know what goes on inside a seed, or a bulb, or a tuber, or a system of roots under the ground?
How can we ever describe what goes on inside our hearts when everything is about to change for the better?
It didn't happen overnight. To me, it seemed like it took forever. But to everyone else, it was magic.
First, there was winter.
A long-held tone on a tuba—until its player passed out.
But then, suddenly:
- A tiny high trill on a flute
- Tinkling bells
- A mighty pipe organ
- A choir
- A screaming distorted electric guitar
Sparkles and twinkles and fireworks.
Footlights, spotlights, floods.
And the curtain goes up.
Tulips and crocuses and daffodils and dandelions.
Roses and daisies and black-eyed Susans.
Cone flowers and lilies and more.
Those who had laughed?
"It's so BEAUTIFUL," they cried.
And it was.
And it will be again.
And unless, or until, you've experienced this yourself, it's impossible to describe the joy felt inside by the sights and the smells, and the sound of the birds singing sweetly in the trees.
"That's MY garden," you say.
"I planned that.
"I planted that."
Ah! But you didn't actually make it grow, did you?
What are your plans now?
What kinds of seeds are you planting?
What are your dreams?
What steps have you taken today towards achieving them?
Do the work.
Ignore what others have to say.
SEE BEYOND the DIRT.
And you will behold the beauty of your dreams bursting forth into bloom.
©2015 Gabriel Strump