As Earth Day approaches this Wednesday, I find myself drawn more than ever to my garden, soaking up every bit of positive energy I can. There’s something grounding about being outside this time of year, the warmth of the air, the light lasting a little longer each day, everything slowly waking up again. In the quiet of morning and again in the evening, I spend a few peaceful moments with my sweet chicken, breathing it all in and focusing on the small but meaningful signs of renewal; the return of my perennials pushing through the soil and the first blossoms beginning to appear on my fruit trees.
The line of locust trees that traces the edge of our property has always felt a bit complicated to me. They’re tall and established, but not my favorites. Years ago, during a summer thunderstorm, a microburst occurred and several of them came crashing down, destroying our fence and leaving behind large, jagged openings in the landscape. At the time, we could have chosen to remove the remaining trees, start fresh, and reclaim the space, but something in me resisted. These trees hold shelter for our favorite wood peckers, so they stayed.
The decision to keep the trees has shaped our yard in unexpected ways. With the fence destroyed, I researched Earth friendly fencing options. An article about “dead hedges” really appealed to me. Dead hedges are created by utilizing fallen branches in a sustainable way. By stacking the branches in a hedge pattern, a habitat is created for bugs and small creatures. It’s an eco-friendly way to manage debris that would end up in a burn pile. This hedge is renewable, the material decomposes over time, allowing for yearly deposits. Every spring, our trusty battery-powered chain saw gets a workout trimming branches to add to the hedge.
A large portion of our garden sits in deep shade for most of the day. I’ve done my best to work with what is, planting herbs and shade-loving plants, trying to create something beautiful within those limits. There is beauty there, in its own quiet way. Still, I have always found myself longing for something more, a sun-filled vegetable garden, rows of thriving plants, the simple joy of growing food from seed to harvest.
Recently, I was lucky enough to learn about a community garden in Cambridge that had a plot available, and it felt like a door opening. A space where I can finally plant freely, follow the sun, and grow the vegetables I’ve been dreaming about. I’m so excited to begin this week, to dig in, to plant to my heart’s content, and to be part of something shared and rooted in care with like-minded gardeners.
In the end, “Our Power, Our Earth”, isn’t just a theme for a day, it’s a reminder that the future is shaped in small moments, lived out daily.
