A Bit of Earth

When I was a child, one of my favorite books was The Secret Garden. In chapter 12, Mary askes Mr. Craven "Might I have a bit of Earth?" All she wants is to dig in the earth and make things grow.

When I was a child, we had gardens. I hated them and loved them. I was a child, so yeah, I often wanted to get out of doing my chores, whatever they were. At the same time, many of my fondest memories involved gardening. Putting my hands in dirt, feeling it between my fingers or my toes (I rarely wore shoes outside in the summer). I would help my mom weed the flower beds or plant the seeds with my dad. I'm pretty sure most of our harvests never made it to the dinner table. Us kids would eat much of what was grown straight from the garden. I remember popping peas right off the plant and into my mouth. I loved our gardens.

Many times in my adult life, I have felt like Mary, wishing I could find just a bit of Earth where I could plant things. I tried a few times. None of them worked well.

In Arizona, I planted a garden, but the dirt was really, really poor and it was really, really hot. I lovingly planted the plants and watered them, knowing the yield wouldn't be much but sure I could make it happen if I put effort into it. Then I went away for a week and the person I left in charge of watering them did not. I came back to dead plants. I was crushed.

Later, I started working on a garden in my ex's grandparents house. Except there was a pill bug infestation. I didn't know this was possible, but I guess it is. When I cleared out all the weeds, they actually invaded our house in the search of food. I did research and while pill bugs usually do not destroy gardens, the amount we had would. Rather than have my garden eaten by bugs, I chose to not grow one at all. It made me very sad.

Most of the rest of my adult life, I've been in apartments. Not to say that there are no ways to garden in apartments, but they usually are expensive. And I was poor. So no garden for me. I would imagine putting my hands in the dirt. I wished, somewhere on this planet, there was a little bit of earth I could garden in.

We've found a place to live in Vancouver, part of a collective. We are renting 3 bedrooms and sharing the main space with a few other people. It's a very big house and it's not going to feel like we're on top of each other at all. There's even a place I can run my massage business out of. I'm looking forward to the move at the beginning of April. But there is one thing that I am most excited about. There is room for a garden.

Tonight, I was on the internet looking at seeds. I have a cart on Etsy full of heirloom plant seeds. Oh, I want to buy them! I want to buy them so bad and put my fingers in the dirt and feel the dirt around my hands as I plant the seeds. I want to spend hours outside caring for the plants and watching my garden grow. There are two hesitations with buying the seeds. The first is I don't want to double buy things that the collective is already growing. That's easy to sort. I can send a text and find that information out.

The other hesitation is fear.

I'm afraid that I will lovingly plant the seeds and then something will happen and I won't get to stay at the house for some reason and I will have to leave my garden behind. I know that this has less to do with the future than it does what I've just gone through. I literally had to leave my home behind.

We left so many things behind, most of which I do not know when I will be able to replace. The beautiful bookshelf I lovingly built for my husband and me. The 3D printer I was modifying. My ebike that was allowing me to exercise despite my leg and hip having chronic issues. My keyboard that I got from my ex mother in law and had hauled all the way across the country and back. And the sapling in a pot that my sister gave me as a wedding present because my sister knew I loved plants.

I consciously know that we will not be repeating the past and at the same time, I am afraid to get attached to anything. I'm afraid of what will happen next. I'm afraid of leaning into hope.

Things are precarious right now. We have some funds, yes, but they won't last long. Groceries are more expensive in Vancouver. Housing is more expensive in Vancouver. We do not have residency and cannot legally work or put the kids in school. I'm scared that this future I am building for myself will not last. I cannot guarantee that I won't be in a place within a few weeks or a few months where we have to start over somewhere else. Again.

So I'm finally getting the Bit of Earth I've longed for the last 20 years and simultaneously do not trust that it will stay. Buying the seeds, planting the seeds, it will take an exercise of faith. I will have to lean into trust and hope that the plants I'm growing will mature along with the life I'm building and that I will get to see both of them harvested.

If you would like to help make it more likely that we will get to see the plants grow up, you can donate to our GoFundMe or to my PayPal.

Also, ask questions about trans experiences on my Ask a Trans Man. Later this week, I will be publishing the first one!