Michael Sullivan

My hands have thick calluses built from the time spent turning soil. I earned these calluses rebuilding gardens after hurricanes came through. You get to understand what grit is when saltwater inundates a year's worth of work in a day. Respecting the land is where you need to start. That scraggly oak that is volunteering in your compost and somehow surviving being smothered in leaves? Let it stay there and grow. It is stitching nitrogen into tired soil.

I once cultivated every "weed" out of a newly established plot. It was barren dirt. Rains fell, and topsoil eventually washed into a creek. An elder handed me a packet of clover seeds. He said, "Barren ground is a wound." Now, I overseed with vetch and let the chickweed carpet the beds in the winter. In the spring, I notice goldfinches picking seeds from weedy plants.

Gardening is not about getting your hands clean. I said my things are stained with worm castings. I moved manure while it was sleeting in January. But to taste a strawberry warmed by your own hands? It's worth all of it. Just last month, a client told me his yard was dead. But we proceeded to uncover some dormant wild rye under the thatch. We split the roots and replanted it, and now the grass waves waist high in the breeze. Grab a mattock to help that milkweed colonize the roadside ditch -- I assure you that nature is waiting to partner with you.