Hands in the Dirt

I debated the pros and cons of starting to clean up the perennial gardens versus staying inside on a rainy 40 degree day to clean closets and the oven.  Ultimately, I remembered a phrase a dear friend told me yesterday, “It was good because I got my hands in the dirt.”  Her mother is dying and now in hospice care.  My friend is an avid gardener, a true artist.  Gardening is therapy for her.  I thought of her throughout the damp, chilly morning as I trimmed perennial tops, pulled annuals and raked leaves.  

What is it about getting in the dirt that comforts us?  Is it the dirt itself, a physical reaction, primal, like putting toes in sand?  Is it spiritual, “from dust to dust?”  Is it therapeutic, like cleaning and organizing, only outside?  I recently listened to an “On Being” broadcast featuring an interview with Bessel van der Kolk.  He talked about the importance of action when dealing with trauma. He said, “as long as you move, you are going to fight.”  He discussed the importance of action in dealing with trauma, and how humans naturally want to help, move, and act when dealing with a difficult situation, such as hurricane damage.  This action keeps trauma moving through bodies, keeps it from getting stuck.  So maybe digging in the dirt helps us deal with whatever is happening in our lives, helps us keep things moving, keep things from getting stuck.

    It felt good to be outside, even through the day was cold and wet.  When I came inside, my skin was so chilled that the shower water burned as I began to thaw.  Here’s to friends, to mothers, to gardens, to dirt.