Cleaning greens is a lengthy process. I don’t use any insecticides, so I examine each leaf, rinsing and inspecting closely for insects or other bits of nature. I spent most of the afternoon rinsing kale and lettuce greens, spinning them dry, and dreaming of recipes for them.
I am not a detail person. Tedious work makes me tired, and maybe a little irritable, but for some reason these garden tasks do a good work on my spirit—slow me down and relax me. Sometimes, as I dab a leaf dry with a paper towel I discover a little friend, part of the garden world accidentally brought inside. On Pentecost, it was a little garden orb, hiding under a kale leaflet. I carried her outside on her green chariot and instead of being creeped out that she could have been part of my salad, I let myself be filled with wonder at how all the small things work together in this world. The yellow of her abdomen was so beautiful and I whispered to her how grateful I was that she kept my garden well.
On that first Pentecost, the Holy Spirit came as wind and fire. And all these years later I feel the after ripple, the warm glow of his breath breathing new life into my spirit through the garden.
I’m joining Kelli for Unforced Rhythms this week.