Writing Challenge #5: Sounds in My Garden

I've been trying to remember to notice what my garden sounds like.

My garden is new, outside against the building where my business rents space. I told my landlady I was going to put a few plants in, and, well, I tilled it all up and went a little crazy! So I imagine I would hear the sounds of traffic on the road, the noise of the small carwash across the street, occasional doors or voices belonging to others in the building, maybe a car as it pulls into our parking lot or my voice saying Hi to someone walking past.

But in this past week, I haven't yet remembered to listen. I don't think this is an example of a favorite lesson I learned from one of my teachers: "Forgetfulness is a form of Resistance!" I think it's because I'm so noisy!

When I'm in the garden, I'm constantly talking to myself and the plants, and I honestly couldn't tell you if it's out loud our not. I'm planting, or weeding, or planning. I'm checking out all the plants, since they're ALL new, and asking them what they need or how are they doing, congratulating them on not getting run over by errant parkers yet, imagining them grown up and filled in and beautiful, checking to see if seeds have sprouted or if that's just more grass popping up. There's a constant dialogue going on between Me, Myself, and the Garden. What needs water? Did the tomatoes get too much? What am I going to do with that bare space? How much more can I fit in? Did I make a mistake planting that there? There's so much grass! When I go back inside, the first thing I notice is the quiet- not only in my ears, but in my mind.

My garden is an active, creative space for me. It's not restful, contemplative, or meditative. There's nowhere to sit down, to just watch, or to just listen. Realizing this, I now want to put in a wind or water feature, something small to hold people's attention instead of just walking past and glancing down at some plants in the dirt. Maybe then I'll stand still long enough to hear what the Garden has to say to Me.