“A garden is a nursery for nurturing connection…” – Robin Wall Kimmerer, “Braiding Sweetgrass”

 

The recipe called for fresh chopped dill.  I’m not sure exactly when I last incorporated dill of any sort into a dish I was making.  Actually, I’m fairly certain I’ve never cooked with it or chopped it.

 

I bought a book on canning last year, and I know that fresh dill weed is often used in the canning process, especially when making dill pickles; however, I have still yet to can anything.

 

The red potato salad recipe, courtesy of Ree Drummond, aka “The Pioneer Woman,” turned out to be fantastic.  However, little did I know that the prep, specifically the chopping of the dill, would have the effect of taking me down memory lane.

 

As soon as I began working the knife on the cutting board, I was transported back in time to my childhood, standing in my neighbor’s garden.  Scents have the power to do that.  In fact, our sense of smell has a stronger link to memory than any of our other senses

 

If I’ve ever known a master gardener, it was Mrs. Idell Bridges, my childhood neighbor and babysitter.  Mrs. Idell’s dill plants were huge.  Taller than I was at the time, the plants were filled with the tiny green fronds that give the aromatic herb its name, dill weed.

 

In my mind’s eye, Mrs. Idell’s dill was planted next to her cabbage, which also seemed immense.

 

As I chopped the remainder of the dill for the potato salad, it occurred to me that like everything else in her well-planned garden, there must have been a reason for that.  Later that evening as I sat reading about dill, I learned that I was, in fact, correct in my reasoning.

 

According to an article on www.greatamericanseedup.org, not only does dill attract “…beneficial insects, such as ladybugs, lacewings, and parasitic wasps, its aroma also has a repellent effect on moths, worms, and caterpillars that love to munch on brassicas.”

 

Gardeners of Mrs. Idell’s generation and the generations prior had a level of knowledge and wisdom about gardening that few possess these days.  They also had a strong connection to the land and the soil that helped sustain them.

 

It seems that the further we get from our connection to the land, the more that we lose. That loss seems to me to be a collective and cumulative loss of knowledge, wisdom, empathy and understanding.

 

Robin Wall Kimmerer speaks to this loss in “Braiding Sweetgrass.”  Kimmerer ponders, “I wonder if much of what ails society stems from the fact that we have allowed ourselves to be cut off from that love of and for the land.”

 

According to Kimmerer, our love for the land and our connection to it “…is medicine for broken land and empty hearts.”

 

The bounty of Mrs. Idell’s garden was a testament to that connection.  Gardening wasn’t a hobby, it was a necessity.  It was also a partnership that helped sustain a family, a family that depended upon the fruits and vegetables that the soil and toil produced.

 

I use the word toil because there was a time in my life when I equated working in the family garden to hard labor.  Years later, after I was grown and gone, I found myself longing for the bounty of fresh vegetables—tomatoes, peppers, squash—that gardening produced.

 

These days, I find myself trying my hand each year at regaining my connection to the land.  Last year, I felt as though I had finally turned the corner when it came to growing tomatoes.  Far from a master gardener, I was at least able to sustain my “BLT habit” well into fall.

 

That small tomato and pepper plot fueled my longing for connection.  It also fueled a longing to learn the “old ways” of doing things, ways that didn’t involve pesticides and harmful chemicals, which, in turn, led me to start composting.

 

In the words of Kimmerer, “A garden is a nursery for nurturing connection, a soil for cultivation of practical reverence and its power goes far beyond the garden gate.  Once you develop a relationship with a little patch of earth, it becomes a seed itself.”

 

My success with the tomatoes last year planted the “seed” of desire within me to learn how to can and preserve the extra fruits, and vegetables, of my labor.  However, my aforementioned love of the BLT, and the tomato sandwich, literally ate away at any excess harvest that I thought I might have.

 

This year, I planted an extra Cherokee Purple in hopes that I can break out the Mason jars and the “Ball Book of Canning and Preserving” at some point this fall and test my skills.  If not, rest assured, there will be no wasted tomatoes.

 

There is a sense of fulfillment and pride that comes with working the land, even on a limited basis.  I believe that stems directly from the restored connection to the land.  There’s just something about having your hands in the soil.

 

“People often ask me what one thing I would recommend to restore relationship between land and people.  My answer is almost always ‘Plant a garden.’  It’s good for the health of the earth, and it’s good for the health of people,” writes Kimmerer.

 

I agree wholeheartedly.

 

Here’s to the Mrs. Idells in each of our lives, the master gardeners who cultivate much more than soil, they cultivate life within each of us.  Until next time, here’s to seeing you out there getting your hands dirty in our great outdoors.