If I do it? Am I?

Since I was young, I dreamed of having a backyard garden. It was perfect. No weeds, continuous blossoms and a harvest to die for.

Especially in the winter when I longed for the blossoming energy of spring.

Dreaming of what a garden could be.

When I was 15, we moved to Boston and my family had a community plot. I loved driving there with my family after dinner and all of us pulling weeds and watering in the quiet dusk of the river valley, the joy of discovering what was ready to pick, and taking our bounty home. It was magical.

Years later, our first home had space for a few small plants, but with 3 little ones and running my own licensed daycare for many more, sadly, there was no time or energy to cultivate a garden.

"The Cat in the Hat" and some of the kids I cared for. One of the best jobs I ever had.

In 1998, we moved to a new home with lots of land. The wheels started turning, but again, life got in the way. The task of planning, gathering materials, and digging that shovel into the earth felt like a huge mountain to climb, so I kept putting it off. Then last year, I started sharing my dream. My two sons, who were avid gardeners, reassured me saying, "Mom, you can do this," and built me my first raised bed. I was hooked!

Jared and Mark loved gardening even at this young age.

I had a lot to learn about gardening, and soaked up all I could find, while dreaming of a good harvest. Soon, I got the courage to stick my shovel in the soil and dig a hole. With that one little brave step forward, I was on my way.

One hole became many—so many that I crowded the plants way too close, and they had challenges.

My first try with sweet potatoes didn't quite work out, but these fingerlings were yummy.

As the snow began to melt this year, I was spurred on by last year's little success and wanted more. Even the failures with sweet potatoes, eggplant, and the fungus on the squash didn't hamper my determination. So my husband built me another bed. I realized that by tending the garden a little every day, I would eventually fulfill my dream of becoming a gardener.

My granddaughter Quinn helping Scott fill the bed with compost.

But...

What I didn't realize was that I already WAS a gardener.

That the word 'gardener' was not a noun, but a verb.

By doing the action of gardening, I was, in fact, a 'gardener'.

But what has gardening have to do with Poetry Friday?

Reread the first part of this post and substitute 'dreaming of being a gardener,' to 'dreaming of being a writer/ poet'.

Writing has been the same kind of journey for me:

dream,

doubt,

community

not enough time,

encouragement,

mustering courage

taking the first step,

dealing with failure and disappointment,

digging in and trying again,

every day, just a little.

One day...

I was sorting through some memorabilia and found a story I had written in 3rd grade, Titled, "I Know iT is Spring!"

and the first poem I wrote in high school.

and the poem I scribbled off in college after an exhausting volleyball practice.

Why are we afraid to call ourselves what we are?

If we are on the journey, we might already be that 'thing' we are dreaming of.

Charles and I at Highlights (now Boyds Mills)

I remember vividly the day I knew I was a poet. At my first Highlights retreat (now called Boyds Mills), talented poet and mentor Charles Waters and I were discussing a poem I wanted to write about childhood grief my granddaughter's first experience with death.

Scott, Hadleigh and I at my parents' graveside during the pandemic.

Charles pointed his finger across the table and said, "Write that poem. I want to read THAT poem." So I dug my shovel into the Highlight's fertile soil and wrote it.

On our last morning there, as people were pouring their coffee for breakfast, Charles leaned over my shoulder and asked to see the poem.

I was scared—scared it would not convey what was in my heart, scared that he would discover I did not belong among such poets at this retreat, scared of embarrassing myself.

But instead, his words affirmed me, telling me "Cathy, you are a poet," and then asked to see more. The room's chatter and sounds of a spoon against a mug faded away as I cried with relief and happiness.

Charles' words, and those of poet Irene Latham, and so many other writers over the years, have given me just enough encouragement to light a fire in me.

Now I think of myself as a word gardener.

I try to tend the garden of my heart every day in some small way; dreaming, planting, watering, trimming. Sometimes I get to harvest something great, but often the little seedlings in my mind need a bit more nurturing before they are ready to pick. I keep bringing my harvest to market, hoping someone will be dazzled by the color and taste of what I have created. And when they do... It tastes delicious!

Be sure to stop by APPLES IN MY ORCHARD—A Reflective Blog since 2017 by Carol Labuzzetta: Author, Teacher, Publisher, Environmental Educator, and Nurse.

Carol shares an interesting reflection on Ferris Wheels and a poem by MiamiGirl.

See you next week! Happy Gardening!