Tomorrow is June 1^st. Every year at this time I remember my friend Cia telling me that someone she knew hated June because “it’s so green.” Although I don’t dislike June (too green?)  I agree that this month is an in-your-face, all-out-growth time of year.

I think that the challenge is to take it all in. Not only is the foliage green and lush, but the peonies are over-the-top fragrant and the poppies are practically screaming “Let’s put on lipstick and go out!” In June life is so exuberant and grand that it’s hard to properly absorb and appreciate it.

It’s not wonder that one of the well known tunes from the Rogers and Hammerstein musical Carousel is “June is Bustin’ Out All Over.” It absolutely is.

How can we best use and be grateful for this most abundant month? For me, it’s a matter of first stopping my high-speed planting to value what is here. But beyond the garden, June is a reminder to notice all of the areas of growth and abundance in our lives.

For family, work, friends, faith, spirit, gardens, pets, challenges and opportunities for growth, I am thankful. Life is bustin’ out all over, and is so very green.

Every day something new bursts into flower. The 'Belgica' honeysuckle, 'Collette' climbing rose, and the Siberian Iris... and more. I take a deep breath of appreciation and just try to take it all in.

When we’re busy just keeping up with all of life’s necessities it’s easy to forget to work on thoughtful growth. At this time of year even my gardening can become a matter of checking things off the to-do list. Today I watered plants, set up sprinklers in the early morning (and wished for more rain), worked at the garden center and brought home even more plants for the lineup of things-that-really-need-to-get-planted-damnit.

So tonight I went out as the light faded from the sky; I watched as the color drained from the garden and the world turned black and grey. Even this brief act of appreciating nightfall in the garden felt centering and peaceful.

Growth doesn’t just come in the daylight, when the world is awake and busy, I thought. Growth also happens when there is no color and we’re all at rest. No matter what time it is, we’re able to make personal progress in small moments of gratitude, attention and prayer.

Reminder to self: several times a day, stop and just absorb where you are at that moment. Drink in your surroundings and think about what you are cultivating in that moment.

Walking in the garden in the early morning, I appreciated how the rising sun illuminated the plants... but it was also a reminder to me to try to bring metaphorical light into the rest of my day. I'd like to say that this stayed with me all day, but the truth is that the thought flew out of my brain as soon as I got in the car to drive to work. How to better remember a moment like this? Perhaps I could pick up a pebble or a leaf to carry in my pocket, and use that to prompt my resolve.

It rained for much of the day here in eastern Massachusetts. The local news warns people who live in flood plains to be ready to evacuate their homes. The soil is fully saturated, so the rainfall won’t be able to soak into the ground.

It rained about a week ago, and at Poison Ivy Acres we received two and a quarter inches. In the summertime this wouldn’t leave the soils so wet, because the plants would be actively growing. The roots would be drawing that water out of the ground, using it for photosynthesis, and releasing the excess into the air through the stomata in their leaves. This whole process keeps the plants growing and moves water out of the soil and back into the air.

At the end of March, however, the deciduous plants haven’t broken dormancy so they have no foliage and the evergreens are still dormant. Most of last week’s rainfall is still in the ground.

I’m thinking that we humans can be over-saturated as well and need a way to release what has built up in our lives. Be it joy or sorrow, when we’re filled up we need a means of letting go. Some people turn to creating music, poetry or art in these times. Some plant gardens. When we’re so filled up with delight or despair that we need to touch something larger than ourselves, we talk to friends and family, or turn to God in prayer.

This reminds me of Anne Lamott who wrote that she knows two prayers well: “Help me, help me, help me,” and “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” These prayers stem from being completely inundated with anguish or happiness, and we can all relate.

There are times when we’re totally saturated, and need something, someone, or God to take the excess up.

The moss loves this frequent rainfall. It uses what it needs, but isn't bothered by the excess down below.

I have to get this posted fairly quickly, because in thirty minutes it will be Earth Hour, and I will turn off my laptop and all of the lights in the house. My husband jokingly asked if we could use our computers on battery, and I shook my head. We’ll light candles and enjoy each other’s company, forgoing anything that requires power for at least one hour.

The theme of this day for me is personal action, it seems. I rehearsed with the WomanSpirit group from my church this afternoon, as we prepared the service for tomorrow. We are honoring Carolyn McDade, composter of two of my favorite hymns. She might not call them hymns, but I do since there is something holy about Spirit of Life and We’ll Build A Land.

These two events, Earth Hour and the service celebrating Carolyn McDade come together with gardening I think. When we garden, we do what we can. The weather is out of our control, weed seeds lay dormant, waiting to sprout for over fifty years, and our type of soil may not support the plants we want to grow. Still, we cope with that which we have no power over, and we cultivate to our best abilities.

I don’t have the capability to reverse global warming quickly, but I can turn my lights out for an hour tonight. In doing so, I connect with others around the world (think of that, around the world!) who also deeply care about the future of this blue planet.

Reversing injustice is beyond my personal jurisdiction, but I can gather with others to affirm and celebrate justice through prayer and song. And in the garden I can make good choices, forgoing products that harm wildlife or work against natural processes. In this I join with gardeners throughout history and the world, as we unite to cherish the land.

We may not have the power to instantly reverse environmental damage or other wrongs, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t have the responsibility to do what we can. We are gardeners, and we can always plant wisely.

Today I did two things that I don’t do often enough. I went to church, and took my dog for a walk at a local dog haunt. At the Barnstable Unitarian Sunday services, Kristen Harper gave a thoughtful and moving sermon about the New Year. Later, when I was walking the dog, I met friendly people who were willing to celebrate absolute delight.

Kristen’s reading this morning began with a poem by Mary Oliver that ended with “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”    Good question.

Because the New Year is a time for reflection about the past and the future, Kristen spoke about the importance of knowing if you are living abundantly, or if you are merely growing old. She spoke of the difference between making New Year’s resolutions, compared with New Year’s consecrations.

A consecration is defined as, “a solemn commitment of your life or your time to some cherished purpose.” A New Year’s consecration means we are resolved, spiritually, emotionally and intellectually, to live with great meaning and purpose. We are dedicated to living abundantly, not just growing old.

I felt that I was living a plentiful life today both at church and when I walked The Dog at Eagle Pond. As I walked Riley, I met two groups of dog owners who were sociable people with friendly dogs. We all enjoyed the exercise, the crisp air, and the joyful pets. Dogs are completely in the moment, and the people and pets that ran around the pond today were all fully present and happy to be there.

Abundance is often thought of in terms of material goods or riches, but as a gardener, I know that it’s about the willingness to cultivate good things. This New Year, I want to consecrate my wild and precious life, my time and attention, to being joyful, to conscious cultivation, and to connections with others.

I want my live my life as abundantly as the Martha's Vineyard Farmers Market.

I spent the day doing everything but writing, which isn’t a good thing because I have a book proposal to finish and three articles due soon. There are also talks I need to prepare for, so when I got home I went right to my photo library to select images for those presentations.

Ahhh…I was back in gardens, and my errands, phone calls and other taking-care-of-business melted away. Flowers and gardens have the power to soothe, and when the plants are put together with a professional’s eye, they delight the heart and soul as well as relieving stress.

Music and art have the same ability, so I wasn’t surprised the other day when a friend said that she believed that art has the power to change the world. I agree, but I’d add music and gardens into that category.

Tonight, I’m saying a prayer of gratitude for all who plant gardens, compose and play music, and create art.

When I came across photos of the gardens at Terra Nova Nurseries, I instantly felt better.

Early this morning my husband downloaded the photos from the Bird Cam that’s on our feeder. When I came down for coffee, he said, “Look at the computer,” so I went to the kitchen desk and clicked to bring the screen up. There was a photo of a group of bluebirds. Without this picture documenting their presence, we’d never have known that they’d flown through.

Henry David Thoreau is often quoted as saying “The bluebird carries the sky on his back,” but I have not yet tracked down where this quote comes from. Was he merely speaking about the color of the bird, or was he also saying that they carry their home, the place where they are most free, with them?

On this day when many people are traveling home, staying home, or thinking of home, I hope that you also carry that internal space of shelter and safety, your spiritual heart and the place where you are most free, with you wherever you go.   Blessings & Peace.

You have to admire plants for their willingness to grow. In a crack in asphalt, bit of soil underneath larger plants, or even in the crotches of trees, there will be a plant that’s ready to grow there. We love this can-do attitude when we’re trying to get something green to grow in between the pavers of our patio, or in that hot, dry space out by the mailbox. It’s less endearing when those eager to grow are the weeds in our perennial beds and driveways.

As gardeners we spend our time trying to grow the plants we want, and uprooting those we don’t. When I cleared my flowerbeds recently, I pulled out numerous weeds that were hiding among my annuals and perennials. Now that I’m spending a couple of days in a city, I notice all of the plants growing in the most unlikely locations.

In and out of the garden, the willingness to thrive in less than ideal circumstances is a reminder, an occasion for prayer.  “Help me to be like these plants: willing to take advantage of every opportunity, and eager to grow.”

Even in the most inhospitable locations, plants will thrive.

Although still plagued by a heavy-duty head cold that had me feeling totally sorry for myself, I spent a few minutes in the garden today. Most of the time I was keeping my husband company, i.e. watching him work. But before coming into the house to be closer to my tissues, I stopped to look at the rain garden.

The Japanese Anemones, filled with seedpods that were just beginning to burst, caught my eye and I sat down on a log to watch them.

In late November it’s tempting to feel gloomy: the annuals and perennials are mostly gone, the weather will soon be colder, and it seems like it’s getting dark by four o’clock. Mercifully, these puffs of Anemone seed start me thinking about the grace of the seasons.

The changes in weather and landscape draw my attention to the outside world. That greater awareness of, and appreciation for, nature recalls one of the definitions of grace: elegance and beauty of movement or expression. It’s all around me in the garden, and the seasons remind me to wake up and drink it all in.

Grace is also defined as “a state of sanctification by God”, and looking at these seasonal changes, I feel holiness here. These puffs of seed epitomize the circle of life, and the blessing of an ending also being a beginning.

We also know grace to be a short prayer of thankfulness, and being called to pay attention, to witness the miracle of new beginnings as we see this season end, fills me with gratitude.

As I watched, many of these seeds started taking flight.

The Anemone seeds are an elegant poem of a package, waiting to fly through winter on the way to spring.

I was sorting through photos of gardens today, and those that featured structures caught my attention. Arches, arbors, huts and pergolas, all of these called to me.

Such structures are important in the landscape because they provide a framework for the plants. They are the constructions that give interest in all four seasons; these are what we call the bones of the garden.

Beyond garden design, I think that these structures call to us because they symbolize shelter.

Life is tough, complex and multi-layered. We all need places of refuge and protection. Sometimes that sanctuary comes from our faith, our friends and families or even something as familiar as our surroundings.

Tonight, I’m grateful for the people and places that cover me, and I’m praying that those who are in need of shelter may find their safe haven.

This children's garden piece is a place to play and a reminder of our need for shelter.

Even a simple arch calls to mind an entry to a place where we are held safely.