Sowing Seeds & Tilling Tales: A Gift for Mother

In Deepak Chopra's "Synchrodestiny," he unravels how coincidence can imbue our lives with purpose and meaning, guiding us towards intention. When I embarked on my gardening journey, synchrodestiny enveloped me like a warm embrace from Mother Earth herself, urging me onward.

The first messengers of this synchronicity were the frogs, their presence a delightful surprise in my garden. I swear, one of them even flashed me a smile as if to welcome me into their realm of wonder. Weeks later, another frog greeted me from the cozy embrace of my azalea bush, its silverish sheen gleaming in the sunlight as it snoozed. Once, I planted moss, and when I checked to see how it was doing, I found a frog nestled under it like a cooling, cozy blanket amidst the summer heat. These encounters filled my heart with boundless joy, reminding me of the magic inherent in nature.

Then came the moments of serendipity, like when volunteer watermelons sprouted in my rented garden plot, a nod from the universe encouraging me to continue on this path of growth and abundance. Since watermelons were the start of gardening joy, they have since become my reminder as to why I began gardening in the first place: to find and cultivate inner peace.

And on my first Mother's Day pregnant, amidst the weight of the world's injustices towards Black bodies, I sought solace in the earth, planting blueberry bushes with tears streaming down my cheeks, finding comfort in Mother Earth's embrace.

Now, with my babies earthside, I find solace and joy in my shade garden, surrounded by ferns and astilbe, their lush foliage a testament to the love and care poured into the soil. As I dig my hands into the earth, I'm joined by worms, a sign of the soil's health returning, grounding me in the power of cultivating the earth.

This Mother's Day, all I desire is to spend another day among the critters and dirt, nurturing my connection to the land alongside my bug-loving sons. And as I delve into the pages of Rachel Carson's "Silent Spring" and Richard Louv's "Last Child in the Woods," I'm reminded of the importance of reconnecting with nature, of tending to our gardens with wonder and reverence.

The Indigenous have an expression, "We belong to the land," and each morning, when I sip my coffee on the porch, I whisper these words to myself, reaffirming my bond with the earth. The greatest gift I can give to Mother Earth is the gift of my hands in the dirt, nurturing and cultivating a world of joy and abundance for us both.