Grateful for the dirt under my fingers

This afternoon I have dirt under my fingers. It’s because of my son. He’s 16 and he loves pottering around the garden. I’ve always loved the garden but have too short an attention span to give it the kind of love it needs to thrive. But my son is different. He loves to potter around, planting and replanting. He’s always been like that even when he was a toddler. All the old people we know give him plants now. He notices things in the yard that the rest of us miss.

Following his lead, I’ve just come back into the house from spending an hour with my head in the plants. Three of us were out there, digging up the bindies, pulling out weeds, and just getting our hands dirty.

I’m grateful to my son because I know that I would have sat here at my desk tired (it’s mid-afternoon & I could easily nanna-nap) and not at all productive. Instead of sitting here forcing myself to focus, I’ve spent an hour breathing in the dirt and plants, moving, and putting my mind elsewhere.

And hour later I’m here, ready, focused and productive. Definitely time not wasted.

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