The Most Important Thing to Grow

 The thing I want to cultivate most in my life right now. . . 

 

. . . is kindness.

I think being kind used to be a foundation of my person. I realize, however, at this time in my life, it is not.

It's not that I am unkind . . . perhaps. But kindness is not a source and constant light at the heart of me, warming all actions I take, softening my approach and response to others, depriving criticism and judgment, and feeding patience, openness, and humanity.

When a person is truly kind, kind in a way that is deep within and formative of their being, it is clear in the actions they take, in the choices they make. It is evident just being in their presence.

I think you must be a very kind person to knit scarfs for trees. Is this "a thing", a tree scarf movement?

If it is a movement, I like it. It's delightful. It made me, very simply, happy.

I know people like this. A friend I had in high school: Zoe. I haven't seen Zoe in a couple of years now, but I look at her blog posts about building her house in Vermont, I look at her drawings of creatures with quirky, unique personalities, I read her observations of Mouse in the camp kitchen (who she does not try to murder in a wire trap as I do the mice in my kitchen) and Malcolm the rude and dirty cat (who she still scratches under the chin), and I know Zoe is one of those deeply kind people. One of those people who is open to and forgiving of others, and who others grow and become better around.

My sister, Angela, is one of these people. Angela who is, literally, too kind to hurt a fly. Who allows the weeds to grow among the cultivars because life is life and none of it should be extinguished. Who permits the neighborhood strays to, despite their destruction of her gardens and obstruction of her walkways, take haven beneath her trees and overhang, and then neuters them so they cease their propagation. Angela who sees beyond, through, and under vices and fallibility to admire individuality, creativity, and singularity, and who challenges others to question themselves, their assumptions, and their judgments. Angela is an unshakably kind person in the soul of her being.

My parents who have grown so much for so many, and who speak to my children with such gentleness and understanding. My children, who hold ladybugs, worms, and caterpillars with such a mixture of awe and care.

I think a number of factors these past few years have diminished my focus on and capacity for kindness. But my approach to work especially, while yielding professional growth, has been poisonous for my other relationships. Not poisonous like a cloud of pesticide knocking creatures dead on contact, but toxic none-the-less, in a slow and seeping way that promises, if not cleaned up and contained, to reveal itself later in unexpected deformities and sinister defects.

But I am very lucky and hopeful. My current job is, very soon, coming to an end. And I see, in this ending, a great opportunity to re-evaluate and refocus and, if I do this right, make a return to the kinder, more grounded, and more engaged person that perhaps I once was...or that at the very least I definitely could be.

I am so sorry the ending won't come when the garden yet has some life to live on fast forward before the snow. It will be well buried by the time I am free, and I will have to wait months for spring to come before I can plant that new beginning. But this will be good time for planning, adjusting, and preparing, for planting small seeds in the womb of southern windows and coaxing soft leaflings into being.

I am so glad that the little free time I've had these past two seasons was dedicated to breaking the alley ground and repairing the soil. When I think about it, I don't know any gardeners who are unkind people. I hope by spring I am planting things that are new, whole, healthy, and beautiful. Things that will enrich and grow my family and my self, and things that will connect me to all those people I see and pass in daily life, but have not taken the time to know and do not, yet, call friends.