Soil and Telepathy

Soil and Telepathy by Nina Brown
Santa Fe Meadow Garden

A friend calls my lawn a Santa Fe meadow. All around my house are Mexican Hats, Gallardia, Rudbeckia, Lobelia and wild aster plants intermingled with blue grama native grass. Unlike the lush green manicured lawns I remember from my youth growing up in Philadelphia, blue grama is a densely tufted, perennial, warm-season, native short grass, which is grown throughout the Great Plains and Southwest.

My Santa Fe meadow did not always look the way it does today. When I moved into my newly built adobe (mud brick) style house in 2004, the front yard had been seeded by the builder, but I was responsible for seeding the backyard. OK, I could do that. All I would need would be a good shovel, garden gloves and seed. Or so I thought, never having attempted a task of this nature before.

The day arrived. I had moved into my new home. The spring weather was not too warm, and I had lots of unallocated time to devote to tilling the soil and planting the seeds. Outside I went, with my blue jeans and sneakers on, bursting with enthusiasm for the job at hand. My new gardening gloves were on and the never-before-used shovel was in my hand ready to come in contact with my very own soil.

What I had not factored into this experience was that when the shovel head hit the soil it was met with resistance. This was difficult work! The soil was so hard and dry that it barely budged when the tool I had chosen to till it came hammering down. How was I to accomplish my mission? My backyard is not very large, but at this rate it would take me days to budge the soil so that the seeds would have a proper place to nestle. So, I decided to approach this formidable task differently. I would talk to the soil.

Talking to my soil was absolutely a new experience for me, but heck, why not. Let’s see what happens. I put the shovel down, took off my gloves and headed toward the porch, which overlooks the backyard. I sat in a wrought-iron chaise lounge and became still. I moved into theta dream state and saw the soil in my mind’s eye. Then, I began to travel into the dirt. When my conscious awareness was in the space between the particles, I silently spoke to the clay asking it to loosen its structure so that I could turn it over in preparation for the planting of my seeds.

When I was complete and fully in my physical body, I went into the house to continue the activities of the day. I confess, I was not sure how this exercise was going to unfold, but I knew that I had put my heart into it. During the night, I heard a ping and then another ping. It was raining. Then I could not distinguish one ping from an other. It was raining hard. It not only rained hard, it rained for two days off and on. On the third day, I returned to the backyard early in the morning with my shovel and my gloves, in great gratitude.

The soil was heavy with water, but it moved and allowed me to chop it up and turn it over. This too was hard work, but I made progress. Hours and hours later, certainly after a full day, I was able to cast the blue grama seeds, mixed with the seeds from our New Mexico wild flowers.

I think this summer, when everything is in full bloom, I will go outside and sit on the ground and talk to the soil again. This time I will say, “Thank you for listening.”

Comments

  1. Gershon Siegel says:

    Nice. Thanks.

  2. Leanna Patwell says:

    ^_^ <3

  3. Thank you and Rhoda for doing all that and sharing with us. That was quite an experience I’m sure. It was quite interesting to read through it as you wrote out the details of the of the experience and the others present.

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