Dirt. Worship.

It feels weird to be stuck at a desk again.

I took a week vacation, the first since December (which has been waaayyy too fucking long), and spent nearly all of the week toiling in our yard.

With my mother's help, we got most of the leaf litter cleared away, and my wife and I were able to get beds rebuild, cleaned, dug, and are slowly refilling them with soil.

We were left with a decrepit old metal and wood bench - I acquired fresh wood, metal primer and rust paint, new bolts, and outdoor urethane, and am slowly getting everything ready to rebuild it good as new in a lovely deep red colour.

During one of our hardware store trips, we got some herbs (3 types of lavender and one of garden sage) to plant, as well as a foxglove. We have dahlias, fairy lilies, and marigolds to put out.  I have 5 happy plum tomato plants in pots on the deck.

So many nights over the past week, I've stumbled in the house and straight to the shower, exhausted and aching and filthy. Head to toe dirt. Smeared on my arms and legs, inside my gloves, smudged on my face, under my fingernails, on my glasses. Soil and old muck and rust and dust.  From digging out rocks from garden beds, from pulling weeds, from carrying bucket after bucket of fresh garden soil, from slipping and falling trying to disconnect the hose from the tap again. Grass stains on my knees. My neck hurts, my legs are covered in bruises, I have hedge thorn scratches on my arms. I have the start of a swell farmer tan. Sweaty. Hair at the back of my neck is wet, between my breasts is dripping, my glasses keep sliding down my nose.

And I fucking love it.

This is building a relationship with our land - this is paying in blood and sweat and labour, in hopes of love in return. Beautiful flowers, the shade of massive trees, some day soon, sweet fresh veg; hopefully cherries one day from our cherry tree. There are some random blackberry canes here and there that I refuse to remove - others sprouting up that may be wild raspberry. And so much wonderful green.

We had a small barbecue for Canada Day, and for the first time I walked barefoot in the grass. My grass. Our grass. I was always a bit shy to, before, not knowing what rocks or sticks or broken glass were back there. But no more. I walked barefoot, sat in it, laid back and looked up at the sky.

I had to pull some roots out of a flower bed - I suspect they belonged to one of our big trees. I wove them into two little wreathes - one I hung, in offering, on the tree - one I brought in for my altar. It needs a re-do, some freshening up, and then I will show you.

<3

Dirt is wonderful.

Death and Rebirth

My new tarot deck makes mention of how uncomfortable with are with death, how we just don't like to know about what happens to things after they die -- and speaks of Death as "the energy of endings", but always then the cycle of renewal that follows.

I took the Death card from all three of my tarot decks tonight and was amused to discover that all three are birds - a condor, a skeletal bird, and a phoenix.

From left to right - Animal Totem Tarot, Wild Unknown Tarot, and Shadowscapes Tarot

I've been thinking of death in the literal, physical sense a fair bit lately. My grandmother's illness has brought me to the stark realization that her passing quietly and unexpectedly in her sleep would be an incredible kindness versus the possible drawn-out spiral of losing herself to Alzheimer's disease. A coworker's mother also has terminal cancer, and was recently given 24 to 48 hours left, so we were comforting her as best we could while she was at work.

In the metaphorical sense, I'm learning that the death-renewal cycle need not always be painful. We come to expect that when there is an ending, there will be a rebirth, but it will be a bloody, painful, messy process, one that needs to be followed with gentle healing, picking up the pieces.

But what if Death is the healing? What if the tearing down, the cutting apart, the burning and walking away, is the recovery?

I spoke before of severing some facets of my life that were making me unhealthy, that were sickly and stagnant. So much anxiety, so much tension and stress and malaise bound up in so much, so many hours of my life spent on these things. Death brought me relief. The mighty end, that freed me of so much weight. We so often fear death, fear endings, and I think I was clinging, too, to things that no longer served - and that is what we say, isn't it? Those of us who perhaps got a Wiccan-ish flavour to our practice early on? "I release all that does not serve." We cling to our own ball and chain, afraid to drift away if we shed that weight.

I've been mentally healthier, calmer and happier, than I've been in years. My rebirth came as glorious renewal, cleared vision, new purpose and drive. Perhaps it was the timing, the needfulness of this cycle in my life, or perhaps it is all in how I chose to look at it?

Are there any facets of your life where Death and Renewal may restore your vigor and soul?

Stuck sideways between the metaphysical and the physical is our back yard. We saw it as full of potential when we bought this place. Why, put up a privacy fence, plant some flowers, and tada! Our own little paradise. The other thing Death is good at, is stripping us of our delusions.

Our back garden wall is home to a massive rat nest - so there went money, and effort, and no doubt more still - we will never likely be 100% free of them (we live next to a grocery store), but we're hoping to reduce their numbers to a point where the health risks of having so many so near are mitigated. And our beautiful gardens we had romantically planned to fill with flowers, are so soil-barren that I managed to put my foot through one to the near top of a rubber boot. I was afraid at first that I'd fallen into a rat warren, but after a lot of digging, shifting rock and stomping, we realized that the previous owner had tried to compensate for too little soil by piling up rocks in shoddy walls, and the soil has sunk and settled and eroded around these until chunks of the yard are actually hollow. He also left years worth of leaves to rot, so huge patches of the yard are so overgrown with dead grass and rotting leaves that the grass beneath choked and died. But several evenings of hard work, and we've bagged up piles of leaves and dead grass, dismantled shoddy rock walls and rebuilt some, and once the weather is consistent enough to set concrete, we'll be out with mortar taking all those stones (my gods this yard has so many damn rocks) and building proper walls and a fire pit, filling beds with top soil and bark mulch.

We've found an endless number of salamanders under all those leaves. We've been careful to relocate them to dark damp corners near the rocks we're not going to be disturbing. I adore them. (they are eastern red backs, if anyone wants to google)

Even after the work we've done, we have so much ahead of us - but each time we finish, the yard looks a little cleaner, a little greener, and it's a wonderful feeling.

Death in the end, is change. We can be subject to it, but we can create it, too. Choices I have made, with circumstances brought to me, have brought a great cycle around in my life. And now we are agents of renewal in our space, our bit of land, that we are working with love and commitment - like the condor in my tarot deck, we are clearing up the dead so the land can breathe.

It's a wonderful feeling.

(I'll be posting a video tomorrow night, of a tour of our yard Amy did a week ago - and me tracing her steps tonight to show how much we've accomplished.)