Pandemics and Gardening
I love to garden. I am not necessarily great at it. But it is, most certainly, great for me. With one caveat. Balance.
Planting, constructing, working with seed, reveling in the sites and sounds of the outdoors: this has been all I have been able to do. It takes me away from fear and panic in this unbelievable reality we are all sharing.
Thrush 
Bluebird dad 
Escapee
All the while, my house is a mess, my brushes lay idle by my easel, my guitars sit lonely and silent on their stands, and my lumbar and knees are pissed.
This immersion into my garden would seem a good thing. But there is something to be said about balance. Like garden plots, all facets of life must be tended. Ignore one and you are soon in the weeds. Our bodies and world will remind us. Subtly at first, and with a resounding roar when we fail to listen.
At some point, the gardening crossed over from a meditative practice to a bit of an obsession. I found myself greedily wanting to hoard every available minute in my yard while I have it, working until the light or the ache in my back would no longer let me.
I’m getting to know my land and bonding with it. Good things, both, but fretting over getting everything planted and tended is a way of missing out on the joy these tasks bring me. This overdoing is not serving my body or my mind. I know better. I am not practicing Ahimsa, one of the Yamas, or restraints (yogic suggestions for better living), which encourages non-violence and compassion. This suggestion not only applies to other beings; it also applies to self.
The rain came through today as if a reminder. There are things to do inside. A long yoga practice, a little painting, some laundry. And it feels good to write these words for my neglected blog, like stretching stiff and achy muscles. It brings a renewed calm.
But with all that behind me, the sun has returned! I’m going to go check on my okra sprouts. Just real quick. 😉