Gratitude

Rebecca Jo Dakota

Gardens are an act of hope and faith, of course, but also of continuity and loyalty.  Somehow the memory of fresh peas, plucked from a farm field owned by my grandparents’ neighbors, saturated me with such pleasure that every March, in spite of awful weather, I kneel and plant peas.

In a corner of my suburban yard, fingers nudge the earth aside, I dent it slightly, plop in the pea seed, ease the soil back into place, and give it a little pat of love.  Sometimes I plant several rows, sometimes just one.  The soil isn’t the best, being mostly ground up granite from the nearby mountains, but it’s willing.  And so am I.  Year after year, in that awful cold wind, I kneel and plant.

And then wait.  After ten days, I sojourn out to the garden every morning, coffee in hand, to study the ground.  Anything yet?  Any tiny green leaves breaking through?  Not yet.  Maybe tomorrow.

Farming is my heritage.  But today, growing food – not out of necessity, but out of love – is a radical act.  It is one of loyalty to life itself, and to Gaia.  I do so with gratitude.

Rebecca Jo Dakota lives and thrives in Albuquerque, NM. She gets a kick out of gardening, writing, traveling, being a friend, and baking blue-ribbon pies.