Living and Dying Dreams

A journal entry from the farm: transitioning and waiting. Bringing life back to the garden and my dying dreams.

Since I've started gardening again I've learned exactly how I want to garden. I have adopted this mindset of letting the Earth do what it knows to do. I've been working on making my garden a part of nature not an isolated, controlled entity separate from the system it needs.

My main goals have been to use little to no pesticides, beckon pollinators and wildlife, and reduce my everyday wastefulness as a human.

Sometimes I forget just how much the garden is just mainly depending on my consistency to show up, bring energy, weed, and water. When I was much younger, my brother performed many scientific projects involving plant growth. One of which: there were three plants - one we would speak encouraging, positive things to, one we would be mean to, and the other we would simply ignore and water like the rest.

The one we encouraged flourished.

Ever since then I've been talking to my plants. Letting them know that they are beautiful, they are growing strongly, and they are doing a good job.

Our compost is turning a beautiful dark brown and is shredded like soil. It's a mixture of all the scraps I used to convince myself were useless junk: egg shells, banana peels, bread scraps, shavings of vegetables that were boiled for stock, coffee grinds, and more.

Though summer is one of my least favorite seasons, I am frequented much more often when I am in the garden. I gleefully greet little creatures and walk around my yard barefoot — a ritual of sorts that often results in happy tears. A cardinal sat and chirped on the fence as I weeded, fluttered its wings, got a little closer, chattered again, and flew away. A raccoon runs along the roof of my home. A frog croaks near our welcome mat as I walk in the house for my nighttime tea, hands still grimy from soil. Every cat that knows my house has pranced around me and my raised beds as I plant new flowers, herbs, and vegetables.

I've been welcoming such small miracles - these daily visitations. I've been claiming my own luck.

The first bloom of a tomato was noticed this morning. A snail lays on a leaf full of drops of dew, a crowd of ants run around in the soil, tiny - almost unnoticeable - yellow flowers dress the stalks of a tomato plant, purple studs of Mealycup Sage bloom brightly. Growing seedlings shiver slightly like sighing children. The sun bores down on the Earth, the morning dew dispersing like fog in long, transparent sheets.

Days later, in the far right of the lot, I noticed a large bloom of Elephant Ear plants that have unnoticeably taken root. The land was sending me a message.

A light rain of small pink flowers flowed over into my yard from my neighbor’s tree. Which was lush with blossoms for the summer. In the back of my lot, thick-stemmed plants contain the bloom of large, heart-shaped leaves that are slightly wrinkled. This plant was obviously well-rooted into the garden and wildly growing. The Elephant Ear plant is deeply connected to the water element because of its representation of flowing prosperity. The plant symbolizes intuition, healing, emotional wellness. Personal growth and improving self. Love and empathy. In some African folklore and mythologically, it is believed that these plants reach to the heavens and provide the bridge between the physical and spiritual realm¹. The plant is confirming (what I have already been thinking about) by simply being the embodiment of adventure and seizing the unknown.

The Earth speaks to us all. Some of us don’t listen or haven’t learn the language yet.

I have been grieving the remaining, tender parts of my younger self. The parts of myself that are much harder to release. The fragments of my soul that wasn't filled with anger and was — instead — full of hopeful, small dreams. Dreams that I have now accomplished. Dreams that I will have to be quickly let go.

Since I was little, ill on the couch, devouring adventure novel after adventure novel, living through slow days of nausea and birds chirping loudly in the afternoon, I have wanted to be a librarian. I didnt want to be an official librarian with a degree and all. I simply wanted to be one of the people that shelved books and sat and read for hours on end.

I have spent the past month or two doing just that. I am, currently, a Children's Library Page and I spend four hours every other day shelving picture books, reading a new novel, and creating crafts for kids. It's everything I wanted. And I am beyond proud of myself for this accomplishment.

Yet.

It's not me anymore. Though I love my job, this job no longer contains the longevity I was once anticipating. I dont see myself working this job for more than a year. It doesn’t fulfill my soul. A realization I had on the third day of the job. Which, once I got home, made me cry for a few hours.

It’s perfect for where I am presently in my life.

But over the past few months, I've come to a full understanding on just how much I need a career connected to the Earth. I need something cyclical that involves consistent grounding in soil, cuddling and nurturing animals, writing about the intricate system of nature, and a bit of adventure. I need something that provides explorations and travels consistently. Something with enough freedom that involves creativity. Yet something with enough roots to where I can return home to my little cottage.

It’s a great wish, but I want the wide open, the foamy wake, the mountains, the fields, the yearly sprinkling of snow. The freeness to write. The gift of having to work for something every once and awhile. The pleasure of watching things I’ve planted grow.

I don’t need the excess or convenience. Give me a community of people who care for each other and what the Earth provides consistently. Give me a stable home with joyful people, unforgettable memories, and warm winter nights.

As fulfilling and healing as this current job is to my younger self, to my future and current self, it won't work.

Throughout this fast-moving journey to heal, I have let a lot of my younger self die. Allowing myself to morph and change into the adventurous, softhearted, stable person I am now and will continue to be. For some reason, this just wasn't an aspect of her I was expecting to let go of too.

But I know myself well. Including what I need now and what I will need in the future.

In time, I will share with you all what I have experienced this summer - in June specifically - and where I am heading. But I have a big transition coming up in about a years time. It includes packing, moving, and learning. Transition is a funny thing. It’s uncomfortable and quite scary but oh so exciting.

I’ve been so conscious of all of my decisions. Everything I am and have been curious in has led to such a beautifully laid-out path.

It’s as if I am camped in a tent while a sunrise is blooming on the bluff of a river. And I am watching it, preparing for a gentle journey.

As of now, the waiting commences. Adventure beckons. And elation builds. Come this time next year, I need to let go of this job. I need to let go of this last part of little me so that I can fully accept the quest and love bound for me in the quickly coming future.

I am entrusting my future to its rightful owner: future me.

The Elephant Ear, slightly shivering yet standing tall in the back of my lot as streaks of hot sun streamed through the yard, was not only a reminder but also encouragement.

1. “What Are The Metaphysical Properties of Alocasia?” by Nature’s Mystery Apothecary