April: seeds of plenty

Treading Lightly

I meet a woman in my dreams one night. She has long, grey, braided hair, wears loose clothes in various tones of green. She exudes calmness and confidence. She smiles warmly and invites me into her cabin in the woods. I follow her inside where an orange fire flickers in the hearth, a blue armchair in front of it with a rainbow-coloured knitted blanket thrown across the back. The woman tells me to take a seat by the window while she goes to prepare some tea from herbs she has collected from her garden. There is a dining table with a chequered table cloth and a vase of wild flowers upon it; I pause to admire them before curling up on the cosy bench beneath a window which looks out at the trees that wrap around the cabin. The branches sway, dancing in a delicate breeze and I feel my whole body relax. While the water boils for tea the woman comes across and places a blanket over me, telling me I need to stay warm. A wheaten loaf appears on the table and she carefully slices it to go with some root vegetable soup she says she has prepared for my visit. The tea is grassy and fragrant, the soup gently spiced, both nourishing me with each sip and mouthful. The woman doesn’t speak much, but smiles at me with a deep knowing in her eyes, a love and an acceptance twinkling alongside a hint of mischief. After we’ve eaten I fall into a restful slumber and when I waken she is still there by my side, knitting needles click-clacking as she creates another square for the blanket. When it is time to leave, she helps me put on my coat and whispers that she is proud of me. Tears well in my eyes, the sound of those words new to me. The woman then places in my hands a small parting gift - a soft brown leather pouch tied with twine. She tells me that inside there are seeds of plenty just for me.

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The next morning when I open my eyes, feeling rested for the first time in ages, I realise that I had encountered a future version of myself while I slept. It was such a beautiful dream. I stay still in order to try and hold onto it, to linger in it and to not allow it to slip away through my fingers, floating out into the ether as dreams so often do. And what a beautiful gift to receive… seeds of plenty. I wonder if I have read that somewhere and it has somehow sown itself into my subconscious mind. I don’t know, but I love it. Am grateful for the unexpected gift.

It makes me think of the novel, Candide, that I had studied while taking an English Literature and Language degree with the Open University a few years ago. I’ll be honest, I didn’t really enjoy the novel by Voltaire, or ripping it apart for analysis, but one line from it has stayed with me:

“We must cultivate our garden.”

These words have been floating around in my mind for years, becoming a mantra of sorts, an undercurrent for my life decisions. They initially encouraged me to start growing fruit, vegetables and flowers, to cultivate an actual physical garden, which in itself has been one of my greatest teachers. Isn’t it amazing what information is contained within a tiny seed the colour of dirt that could so easily be carried off on the wind before you have the opportunity to tenderly place it in the soil and cast a wish as you cover it and pour on water and hope for sunshine and all the essential things required for it to germinate and flourish… it’s truly magical.

But those words have rooted deeper still, they have called to me in the wee small hours over and over again, touched my chin with gentle fingers and turned my face towards the light. They’ve nudged me not only to cultivate a wild space outdoors where I can grow some food for my family and native flowers for the bees, but also to tend to the garden of my life. As someone who is on a journey of recovery, that will in all likelihood stretch out for my lifetime, from an array of personal traumatic experiences and living in these times of shared collective trauma, I am learning day-by-day to care for the things in my life that help me to thrive and grow in order that I can be part of a healing, witnessing people. We each must tend our own gardens, our own small spaces and places, looking after our own bodies and souls, so that we can show up in fullness and healthiness of life to be part of a greater picture. Each life tended to is a square of magnificent woven colour on a huge hand-stitched quilt, each part unique but adding to the whole. A blanket knit with love bringing with it so much possibility.

For me, this year started off with bout after bout of illness, so here we are in April and I feel like I have only just landed in 2024. The time spent recuperating was not fun, it is hard for me to stay still for a long period of time, but it was useful, it allowed me the time and space to get clear on what tending to my own garden looks like in this season… what I am planting with a seed from that pouch of seeds of plenty… there is no scarcity here, only abundance.

View across to Doan, Ben Crom and Slieve Lamagan from the Bann’s Road in the Mourne Mountains

I’ve been walking the land once more, albeit in a much gentler way as my strength returns, no strenuous hikes or summit goals, and as I’ve meandered in my beloved Mourne Mountains I’ve been gathering the stories and myths that are written in those hills, with the hope that I can add them into the memoir I am continuing to work on. The stories are so rich and interesting and speaking them aloud as I walk the trails, adds another stratum of meaning to the landscape I adore like a faithful friend.

Tending to my garden looks like showing up to my writing as I would a job, taking it seriously and yet somehow feeling free and unpressured, unhurried in that choice. I am enjoying the process of mining through my words for treasures, seeing what still has energy and wants to be moulded into something beautiful to share. Writing can at times be a lonely and isolating world to inhabit, and although I love and need long spells of solitude, I also believe in the power of support and collaboration. I feel held by my husband, sons and a few dear friends who see me and believe in me and the story I want to tell. I also feel held by a force outside of this, something so compassionate and tender rooting for me as I move forward. As well as that, I have found a wonderful person to mentor me as I work on my book which I will share more about in the time ahead. I am terrified… but more than that I am excited, to be working towards making my dream a reality. The gift of seeds of plenty was bestowed upon me by a loving, wise, encouraging future version of me… she believes in me. Now it is my turn to believe in me.

Loughshannagh (Lough of the Fox) in the heart of the Mourne Mountains