Soft earth crumbles damp and fertile beneath my hands.
The sunshine of late spring warms the bricks beneath my knees.
And I wish upon the chocolate mint in the pot next to me that I could find the relaxation in gardening I hear about from so many. It eludes me. I’ve tried many times, planting a variety of things and finding my thumb never manages anything other than a pale imitation of green.
But my daughter wants to plant beans, like Jack in the Beanstalk, and I’ve contemplated a foray into potted herbs since I discovered the joy of fresh herbs in cooking and baking.
I hesitated, remembering the times in the past my plants have sadly withered, despite watering and proper light conditions and frustration.
The calming scent of lavender won out, and we carefully transplanted herbs into pots, planting beans in a little planter to move it around into the sunnier spots in the yard during the day.
And so we dig into the potting soil, gently pressing and tapping and hiding seeds a couple inches below the surface.
Days later, small sprouts are visible mixed in with the dark dirt, tenderly watered with a tiny watering can.
Those sprouts are magic in the eyes of a four-year-old, and I begin to see that not all gardening is about what you grow in the ground.
Patience and responsibility and, yes, magic, can be nurtured there, too.