Grief Gardening
Downloadable PDF ritual belowGrief gardening is when anyone with big emotions puts their hands in dirt, even a kid making mud pies. Putting our hands to the soil is like a prayer; our most ancient act, whether we were crawling out of ponds onto land as early lifeforms on earth or generations of grandmothers digging in the dirt looking for tubers to eat. As Joy Harjo pens in her poem, "Remember the earth whose skin you are...we are earth."
Over the years, the spider plant and succulents were propagated, and I inherited plants from loved ones who moved, an aunt in hospice, a last chance rack at the hardware store. Many loved ones have died in the recent years and covid upended our lives. Pain from endometriosis slowed me down, but my fingers were often in dirt, grief ever by my side. Gardening became a safe refuge, especially when many other things didn't (like socializing). Still today, if you visit my home, you'll probably leave with a plant clipping.
In 2024 I was invited to participate in an art show, Rituales: Reflections on Death and Spirits at Rhythmx Cultural Center in Alameda; my installation was “Wind Room”, after the Japanese garden designer Itaru Sasaki’s Wind Phone. The curator asked how I kept so many plants alive and heathy.
“Grief. I’m a grief gardener.”
It had become a ritual for me - a regular and intentional interaction - to tend to my grief while I tended to my plants. Quietly pick off old leaves, refresh the soil and ask them help hold what's in my heart. “Water me while I water you” kind of thing.
I was definitely the little kid with big emotions making mud pies while my grandmother gathered potatoes and snapped collard greens in the side yard, but my relationship with gardening deepened over 10 years ago when a friend was diagnosed with cancer. I was a budding plant caretaker, growing a green thumb mostly with succulents, slowly but surely. I set up my first formal alter on a short bookcase: a spider plant, a statue of Buddha to represent my friend's faith system, and 2 crystals: mangocite and green aventurine. I'd stand at the alter each day and pray, asking for guidance on how to be a good friend.
