God's recreation of the new day

Ever since my father took me across the fields in Ayrshire, pushing a wheelbarrow and filling it with the soil from molehills, I've enjoyed the garden as a therapeutic place. To be amongst things that are growing; to contribute to the process of growth and beauty; to cut and shape the hedge as a way of sticking my tongue out at those parts of life that are harder to control and make tidy!; to exercise stewardship not as dominion but as care, appreciation and willing labour.

Yes, I can see why Cat Stevens' rendering of Eleanor Farejeon's poem, Morning has broken, elbowed its way into our hymn repertoire - it celebrates the wet, lush, freshness of an early morning garden. It's so popular that I've conducted weddings, funerals, worship services and school assemblies where the simple evocative words and tune touch something deeply human (humus), almost regardless of the mood of the occasion - joy, sadness, adoration, endurance.

All of this because today I did the hedge, and last night scarified the grass. Morning has Broken doesn't have a verse about weeds, moss and flymos, but no matter, I can live with a song that is uncomplicated in its vision of what makes it worth getting out of bed for. So much of my life is focused on ideas - and yes I do live in my head a lot! So it's a relief, and a return to a lifelong enjoyment of getting my hands dirty, when I'm let loose to do the labouring in the garden. One of my happiest memories (and best paid jobs!) was when my father paid me to mix his compost - three parts soil, two parts leaf mould, one part each of peat and sand - except for the stuff for his cacti which had two parts sand, two parts soil, and one part peat. And it was riddled using my bare hands - I still remember being fascinated by the texture of riddled compost, the damp smell, the promise of fertility and anchorage for all those cuttings!

The photo was taken 50 years ago - when dad was lying beside the drystane dyke that was our garden fence - the dog was our working collie, Norah. Taken by mum, with a box camera, it's a no' bad photie, eh?

Comments

[Brodie]

Jim - love the photo. It adds to my sense of who you are.

[lynn]

this is a FANTASTIC photo. I really love it.

[Margaret]

Love the dog too. You can come and do my garden anytime!