The Stuff Good Soil Gives

May 9, 2023

Beloved:
          The person at Wild Birds sold me a suet brick laced with capsaicin which, according to her, squirrels hate and birds can’t taste.  She was absolutely right.  Not a single squirrel has touched it and, whether they can’t or won’t, the birds haven’t had a single taste either.  Meanwhile the other feeders are hopping with business:  bluebirds, red house finch, yellow finch, a most respectful blue jay, doves, cardinals, the smallest woodpecker I’ve ever seen, titmice, so many wrens, and even a cowbird, which seemed odd so far from any woodsy area.  My neighbor saw a hummingbird a few days ago, but I’m still waiting for visitors at my feeders.  It may be a while since my yard has no flowers.
         Flowers are another project.  I’m watching where the light falls to mark where sun and shade lands upon these empty beds.  I’ve buried them in five yards of a compost/manure/ topsoil mix which now must be kneaded in.  I read one time that nearly all of gardening is tinkering with the dirt; the plants are just the consequence of getting the dirt right.
         Spiritual lessons abound, not the least of which is how much my knees and back hate effort and the pain involved.  I’ve had them mostly reading, sewing and watching TV, and walking the dog for months.  Restful, yes.  Fit for soil work, not so much.  Now I have them bending, lifting, hauling, straining, getting down on the ground and then up again.  My wrists aren’t happy either, hacking at this Indiana clay, digging rocks and roots long buried.  So I keep at it, because I want what good soil gives – which is flowers and hummingbirds and butterflies.  And also, beauty, and joy, and satisfaction, and peace.  And joy.  I think I already said joy.  Like last night when the light was almost gone and I wanted to be done, I turned over a clump of dirt and a little frog jumped out.  A spring peeper, I think.  It watched me for a minute then hopped off to find another bed.*
          Soul work is the same, I know, the willingness to dig up the hardened places, the fixed assumptions and the resistance, old hurts and buried pain.  I don’t like it, not for a minute do I like it.  But how else to have the joy and the new life also buried there?  Some days I am too afraid, too sore or too tired.  But not every day, and especially not in these nearly perfect days of May.  Flowers are exploding with color in other people’s yards.  I can enjoy them from a distance and hope that some season soon the soil and the soul in my care will bloom and flourish.  I pray the same for you.  

~ peace & prayers, 
pastor annette

* I could write these little notes quicker if I didn’t get completely sidetracked by interesting websites like this one – all about toads and frogs common to Indiana.  You can even listen to their songs.  Check it out.  https://www.hoosierherpsoc.org/IDfrog.html#f06

---