So I spent part of Sunday digging in the dirt, as planned. I was lucky to get some good weather and finally dragged myself away from blog-reading long enough to enjoy the sunshine and fresh air. (When do you make time to read blogs? at work? in the morning? at night before bed? instead of sleeping? instead of doing dishes? just curious.)
Anyway, I didn’t get to do any planting yet, so I’ll save that satisfaction for another spring day. Instead I dug out every dead plant and weed and rotted root I could find. We have just a tiny little patch and much of our gardening is in containers (note that’s the South of France above, not my backyard!). We had an early frost this winter that caught me off guard and damaged so many plants. So I yanked out every dead thing that was supposed to be living. And I tilled the soil to prepare it for spring planting and optimal fertility.
Of course all the while I could not help but think that’s what I’m doing for myself too. I’m doing everything I can to cultivate my womb to prepare for my incoming frosties, soon to be thawed out from winter. We’ve cleaned out all the stuff that doesn’t belong there. Now I’m fertilizing by providing nutrients to build a healthy lining, which we hope will nurture our little seeds to take root and sprout and grow into something spectacular. Now we hope our seeds are good and my soil is truly fertile. Holy crap, did I just say hope? That must be the spirit and renewal of spring talking.