Weather means more when you have a garden. There's nothing like listening to a shower and thinking how it is soaking in around your green beans.
A weed is but an unloved flower.
No Temple made by mortal human hands can ever compare to the Temple made by the gods themselves. That building of wood and stone that houses us and that many believe conceals the great Secret Temple from prying eyes, somewhere in its heart of hearts, is but a decoy for the masses who need this simple concrete limited thing in their lives. The real Temple is the whole world, and there is nothing as divinely blessed as a blooming growing garden.
It is easier to tell a person what life is not, rather than to tell them what it is. A child understands weeds that grow from lack of attention, in a garden. However, it is hard to explain the wild flowers that one gardener calls weeds, and another considers beautiful ground cover.
The master of the garden is the one who waters it, trims the branches, plants the seeds, and pulls the weeds. If you merely stroll through the garden, you are but an acolyte.
A garden should make you feel you've entered privileged space -- a place not just set apart but reverberant -- and it seems to me that, to achieve this, the gardener must put some kind of twist on the existing landscape, turn its prose into something nearer poetry.
The single greatest lesson the garden teaches is that our relationship to the planet need not be zero-sum, and that as long as the sun still shines and people still can plan and plant, think and do, we can, if we bother to try, find ways to provide for ourselves without diminishing the world.
The green thumb is equable in the face of nature's uncertainties; he moves among her mysteries without feeling the need for control or explanations or once-and-for-all solutions. To garden well is to be happy amid the babble of the objective world, untroubled by its refusal to be reduced by our ideas of it, its indomitable rankness.
Watering everyday on a seed results in fruitful faith.
Watching you stare into space in the tidy rows of the vegetable garden, ostensibly working hard while actually doing the worst job possible, I think you are a small irritating purple thing and I would like to see you walk off the face of the earth because you are all that's wrong with my life and I need you and I claim you.
By bringing a soulful consciousness to gardening sacred space can be created outdoors.
Regardless of geographical region or culture gardening is perhaps the most common and shared experience of Nature.
A garden is a complex of aesthetic and plastic intentions; and the plant is, to a landscape artist, not only a plant - rare, unusual, ordinary or doomed to disappearance - but it is also a color, a shape, a volume or an arabesque in itself.
God Almighty first planted a garden. And indeed, it is the purest of human pleasures.
My gardening apprenticeship was similar to the way a chimney sweep is pushed up a chimney. It was enforced by my parents, non-negotiable - it would be weeding the strawberries, mowing the grass.
I've never really understood the criticism that climbing is inherently selfish, since it could equally be argued about virtually any other hobby or sport. Is gardening selfish?
I have an armchair interest in gardening, but I don't like to get my knees dirty. I don't have a garden.
It is only the farmer who faithfully plants seeds in the Spring, who reaps a harvest in the Autumn.
And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.
We are extremely uncomfortable with the spiritual aspects of gardening, and yet most people feel it in some form or other, even if it's a sense of connection to the greater world on a beautiful day.