In light of my present activities, I feel I should write a little on working with the Earth. Many have extolled the great benefits of working "in the dirt." Jules Renard once said "On earth there is no heaven, but there are pieces of it." I think this applies to "earthwork." For example, I enjoy looking closely at well kept gardens. The intricacies of the interaction between a single leaf and a flower can be captivating. I love the smell and appearance of damp dirt with a multitude of plants growing within it. If a single square inch of a garden can be beautiful in this imperfect world, imagine what a square mile of heaven must be like. Perhaps the most beautiful garden ever contains as a whole the appearance imbued in a single grain of sand from God's beautiful beach. "The poetry of the earth is never dead," said John Keates.
I must make mention of my favorite book of all time, The Secret Garden. Here is one of my favorite passages:
I love that passage. The power of a garden to heal is real. The book continues:"And here is the handle, and here is the door. Dickon push him in -- push him in quickly!"
And Dickon did it with one strong, steady, splendid push.
But Colin had actually dropped back against his cushions, even though he gasped with delight, and he had covered his eyes with his hands and held them there shutting out everything until they were inside and the chair stopped as if by magic and the door was closed. Not till then did he take them away and look round and round and round as Dickon and Mary had done. And over walls and earth and trees and swinging sprays and tendrils the fair green veil of tender little leaves had crept, and in the grass under the trees and the gray urns in the alcoves and here and there everywhere were touches or splashes of gold and purple and white and the trees were showing pink and snow above his head and there were fluttering of wings and faint sweet pipes and humming and scents and scents. And the sun fell warm upon his face like a hand with a lovely touch. And in wonder Mary and Dickon stood and stared at him. He looked so strange and different because a pink glow of color had actually crept all over him -- ivory face and neck and hands and all.
"I shall get well! I shall get well!" he cried out. "Mary! Dickon! I shall get well! And I shall live forever and ever and ever!"
One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever. One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out and stands alone and throws one's head far back and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one's heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun -- which has been happening every morning for thousands and thousands and thousands of years. One knows it then for a moment or so. And one knows it sometimes when one stands by oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold stillness slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly again and again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries. Then sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with millions of stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in some one's eyes.
And it was like that with Colin when he first saw and heard and felt the Springtime inside the four high walls of a hidden garden. That afternoon the whole world seemed to devote itself to being perfect and radiantly beautiful and kind to one boy. Perhaps out of pure heavenly goodness the spring came and crowned everything it possibly could into that one place. More than once Dickon paused in what he was doing and stood still with a sort of growing wonder in his eyes, shaking his head softly.
Take time to look at the earth, spend some time to work in it and allow it to work in you.
I am obviously no poet or great writer, but I hope I got my feelings across. To work in the Earth and make things grow or to help things continue to grow is a wonderful activity.
My good friend Walt has been known to say, "The outside of a horse fixes the inside of a man." I would like to modify that: "Working outside fixes one inside." Yes, I know - it is not as poetic but it is true! Hoo-Rah. :o)
