Introduction

When a girl works in her garden, it as if Providence has arranged each and every specific meeting before time was even created. Perhaps this is why time does not seem to even exist to the gardener. Let it be known that God created both time and the beings that live upon this earth, but no matter how we attempt to look at life, plants were undoubtedly created before humans. Because of this order in creation, there can be not misunderstanding of why when a person truly wishes to know themselves, they turn to nature. Why not? Nature seems to closer to the Creator who is the only being who knows everything about everyone.

To become one with the Creator is next to impossible for the human being alone, but fear not! Hope is still with us! Nature is the next best thing to what is true and pure, second only to God Himself. Still, we humans are busy and can never seem to find time for knowing ourselves. Many of us are to engrossed in our jobs, families, reputations, and honey-do lists. This is why gardens were created. Such simple creations, yet able to infiltrate the lives of a busy, nature-dismissing society. In a sentence, gardens are our society's last hope of truly knowing ourselves.

I have felt this creational longing and so have set out to discover myself through nature. Some things I knew already, and many I found out. I had never actually gardened before, but I had a love of living things. I knew that to start would be difficult but I found an inability to yield in my soul that had always remained hidden. While working in my garden, the sun upon my back and a song in my heart, I found my real true being lying openly in my own back yard, just waiting to be shown to the world.

Of Weeds

Upon deciding to begin a garden, it was necessary to find somewhere to put it. Lucky for me, the previous owners of my house had enjoyed gardening and left behind three raised bed gardens for me to work with. Because of my inexperience, however, I chose to take only one of the three beds. The one I chose was two feet by four feet and about six inches tall. Any type of human care had long abandoned it, and it's dismal status made this clear. Even in such a small area, the amount of weeds who had decided to make the bed their current and forever resting place was absolutely amazing to me. I took a moment to admire their relentless conquest of what humans have deemed 'private property'.

Nature's little bomber squads have consistently broken through the boundaries we try to set up. Today though, they were to meet their maker. The battle would be hard fought no doubt. They outnumbered me greatly and their very existence depended upon the hope that I would tire of the war and leave them to their measly lives. In the work that would follow though, both they and I would discover how hard I could work when my mind was set to it. I would refuse to give up!

As I approached their home, the weeds seemed to tremble, as if they wished they had chosen one of the other garden beds for a home, but every choice has a consequence and even if a person is not rooted down as they were, the choices invariably change the fate of a person -or a plants! - existence.

They were armed with small prickles that were designed to fend off attackers, but I didn't even feel them. They came with poison that would discourage me from touching, but I was immune to their attacks. They were firmly rooted in the dirt, but the dirt did not want them. Indeed, the odds were against them. I came armed with my hands designed for the extinction of these weeds. Long have I heard that in order to truly get rid of a weed, you have to remove the roots or they will just return. Being as this sounded reasonable to me, I decided the best way to remove even the deep dug roots would be to feel them down till their last piece of existence. My hands dove bravely into the soil, working their way down alongside roots until I could not feel them reaching down any further. My fist closed around the roots themselves and pulled them to the surface, discarding the dying bodies to the side of the bed where they lay in one green heap.

Of Dirt

All that was left after the weeds had been eradicated was uneven dirt, attempting to fill in the spots where the weed had once lived. It was now that I came to fully comprehend how dry the soil was in this little area of land. Frowning to myself, I contemplated the current situation. How could anything but weeds grow in such an area devoid of such a life-giving substance such as water? A garden without water is like a life without meaning. Running my hands through the brittle, brown dirt that matched my skin color, I began to discover how much I liked the feel of it on me. Life was wonderful, but a life with meaning was ready to be lived. My garden needed water before I could attempt to build a new, better life in its soul.

Acquiring a gardening can from my mother who is an experienced gardener herself, I proceeded to take the first step in giving life back to my garden. I gave it water, and watched as the healing potion wound its way over the fingerprints, the battle scars from the weeds, and the cracks of misgiving that the soil naturally designed upon its own being. As the wounded and un-trusting earth took up the replenishing hope delivered in such a simple liquid, my mind ran with images of my own wounded life. Long had I been unable to trust people, fearing their misgiving nature that I knew to be real through past experiences. Newer experiences had drawn me even further from society. I knew that I had never been left by a friend; I had always moved away to soon. My heart had been broken so many times and I could simply not allow myself to open up any longer. I enjoy the rain because of the sad melodies and because of how it followed me wherever I went. It is always there for me.

Gradually the soil began to look livable and young again. In just this way, I was like my garden. A new life delivered by friends as stubborn as the rain stuck with me through the moves and refused to be forgotten. Water came and delivered the promise of new life to the earth beneath my own hands.

Yes, people are like dirt. Sometimes we become dry and un- inhabitable, refusing all life. But soon enough, life is renewed and the earth becomes a forest -or a garden- yet again.

Of Flowers

New life was indeed in store for the newly rejuvenated earth. A mixture of beautiful new life placed into a land just learning to open up to joy again was an unusual task to behold, but it was being done none the less. What would be the out come? Only the Creator can tell. Two pink carnations, a set of hybrid snapdragons whose color never matched another's quite exactly, and another set of mixed Celosia whose strange shape are unlike any other plant. Such an odd combination, yet so fitting for such a land. But life is like that, and odd combinations are good. The flowers all welcomed each other as again I dug in bare handed and gently placed the vibrant flowers into their new home. Stringy roots, far to expanded to be living in tiny plastic containers found freedom in fresh earth welcoming them into its life. The earth, accustomed to only weeds took in the newcomers with such love as only a mother can match.

When all was said and done, an odd mixture of flowers were all placed into a bed, evenly spaced and given the proper amount of room to grow. What had seemed like an odd combination of colors and plants now behaved as a permanent rainbow placed upon the earth for all humanity to wonder at. A person could not live if they only had one type of friend, and so flowers are unable to live if they are surrounded by their own kind. The Creator made each person their own separate being so that we may further bring out the colors of others. Thank God for gardens.

A/N: An essay I had to write for a class on Transcendentalism. I thought it turned out fantastic, but I'll leave that to you. I hope you enjoy!