I am a gardener who struggles. I think as humans, we all tend to make some aspect of our lives more difficult than it needs to be. For me, if I just gave up gardening, life would be easier. Especially for my ever-patient husband, who has endlessly tried to support my success by building raised beds, adding and fixing sprinkler systems, bending hoops, weeding, and more. All the while, he has maintained, “I’m not a gardener. This is your project.”

I lack consistent discipline in the garden arena, but I can’t quit doing it. I’ve shifted mostly to raising flowers by now, giving up on the daily attention a veggie garden requires. (The poor pepper plants produced less than a pint.) But this year, even my flowers didn’t thrive. The zinnias, though plentiful, were a couple feet shy of their normal height. I knew I had been lax in tending to the soil, and here was visible proof.

I sent a soil sample from the beds to our county extension office, which offers a variety of services, including master gardeners who conduct soil analyses and provide detailed reports. Thanks to them, I knew just what to do…add 3 inches of compost and a dose of nitrogen to each bed, then let things settle, stew, and revitalize over the next several months.

So, I’ve been out in the garden this week, first stripping away old husks and turning the beds, really looking at and feeling the soil, running it through my fingers. Then, I finally began the deep repair work. I hauled in heaps of compost, spread it, churned it in. And all the while, I've ben thinking about these changing seasons of 2020...beginning to reflect, beginning to sort out my take on the year. Thinking about the good phrase, “turning shit to gold.”

* * *

Yes, I could bemoan the many hardships of the year. I could purchase one of the “F*ck 2020” snowflake-shaped holiday ornaments and write off the year as a stinking pile. But I really don’t feel this way about 2020.

Do you remember the hope back in January? All the “vision” references to this being a year of focus and clarity? I think 2020 has provided clarity, but in different ways than we were imagining. Just like my stunted plants revealed, 2020 has made crystal clear: there is important work to be done down in the deeper layers.

This is true across contexts for me. I’ve discovered ugly truths in intimate relationships; I’ve walked beside leaders and teams as they’ve faced multiple breaking points; we have all seen stark examples of power and privilege at work in our country. 2020 has brought forth things I cannot unsee, and the revealings have brought greater clarity about next steps.

There is not just an opportunity, but a need to root around in the dirt and explore the darknesses now. Maybe for you it’s a depression, a deceit, a distancing, a literal or figurative death, a denial of freedom. Whatever it is, bring it closer, go toward it…don’t make the mistake I did of making of neglecting the soil, imagining it would fix itself, and looking the other way.

The invitation this time is simple. Get your hands dirty. It won’t be easy, and though it won’t feel good in every way, it will bring forth good. Decide what it looks like for you to do work that is real, dig in, and ask for the help you need as the shovel gets heavy.

With 2020 in mind, I offer a quote from plainspoken speaker and coach Laura Brewer, followed by Marge Piercy’s famous poem To Be of Use, read with fresh appreciation.

May we hold all the complexities. May we hold grief and gratitude. May we hold redress and reparation. May we hold the whole universe in our raw, human, beating hearts.

To Be of Use

The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.