I can't call myself a gardener. Not really. Yet I find myself digging in the dirt, pulling weeds, puzzling over plantings and anticipating what is next to bloom. I suppose I am gardening, actually. But the difference between myself and the real gardeners is that I don't know what the hell I am doing most of the time. I just know I like it it. I pop in my earbuds (to drown out the sounds of my neighbors mowers, blowers and pressure washers) and put on my gardening gloves and drop to my knees. Suddenly two hours have gone by and I am strangely relaxed despite the backbreaking work I may have just done. I may not be a gardener yet, but I am so on to their dirty little secret. Gardening connects us to the Earth, which is a primal experience, giving us a bit of much needed balance. And that is something worth wrecking your manicure for. Pure bliss.
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