First planting day at the healing garden

By Phoenix Fateweaver

Hey there. Ethan here. We had our first real planting day at the healing garden last Saturday. I told people to bring gloves and water shoes. I did not tell them to bring patience, which was the actual requirement. The night before dropped into the thirties, which is cold for Austin and cold for a man who owns one decent jacket and three hopeful hoodies. I got to the plot at 6:45 because anxiety wakes up before I do. The hose was stiff as a branch. The compost bags had condensation on them like they were sweating. I stood there with my coffee and thought, well, this is the glamorous side of community building. Then Mrs. Ruiz pulled up in her blue pickup with her grandkids and a crate of tools that looked older than me, and the morning got honest. Tools we did not plan for We forgot the trowels. I am not going to dress that up. I had a list on my phone and trowels were on the list and

somehow they did not make it from list to truck. Devon, who helps me run workshops, laughed until he wheezed. A teenager named Jaylen said his mom had spoons in the snack bag. We used spoons. It worked. Not fast. Not pretty. But the lavender went in. Mrs. Ruiz showed the grandkids how to loosen the soil with their fingers first, then press the roots down like you are settling someone into a chair they will sit in for a long time. She did not use words like energy or intention. She said do not smother it. I wrote that on the whiteboard later because it is the whole job. People come to the garden wanting to fix something. Sometimes the fix is looser soil and less smothering. By nine we had fourteen volunteers. Two more than I expected. One woman brought her own kneeling pad and a thermos of hibiscus tea she poured for strangers like it was a normal thing to do. That is Austin when it is at

its best. Nobody performing enlightenment. Just showing up with what they have. What we planted and why Lavender along the north edge for calm, Mrs. Ruiz's call. Rosemary near the path because Devon said memory and I said smell and we agreed that was close enough. Sunflowers in the back where the fence is ugly, because Jaylen wanted something tall and I wanted something that waves at the neighbors. We marked each bed with painted stones kids made at the community center last month. Some stones say peace. One says tacos. I am keeping the taco stone. Halfway through, a man named Gerald sat on the cooler and told me he has not dug in dirt since his mother died. He did not cry. He just breathed hard through his nose and went back to the rosemary. I did not coach him. Coaching is not always talking. Sometimes it is handing someone a working spoon and staying nearby. We broke for lunch at

noon. Sandwiches, oranges, water warmed in the sun. I gave a short talk about the garden being for grief and joy and boring Tuesdays. A kid asked if boring Tuesdays need their own bed. I said boring Tuesdays get the whole middle section because they are most of life. People nodded like that was obvious once someone said it out loud. The hose and the hard parts The hose thawed by one. Devon got water moving. We soaked the new plantings and my shoes and Jaylen's socks. He did not care. Mrs. Ruiz cared on his behalf and produced dry socks from the truck like a magician with common sense. I want to be clear about the hard parts because glossy posts help nobody. My back hurt by two. A volunteer argued about whether sage should go near the entrance. We do not have sage yet. Budget is real. I said next month and meant it. Another volunteer asked if the garden was religious. I said it is for

humans. She looked relieved. At cleanup we counted what we finished. Three beds planted. One path mulched. Zero perfect outcomes. Gerald shook my hand and said he will be back Thursday. Jaylen asked if tacos could be a theme day. Mrs. Ruiz said herbs go on tacos and that was enough logic for everyone. Closing Reflection If you are in Austin and want to put your hands in dirt without a sermon first, message me. We have spoons. We have Mrs. Ruiz. We have room for boring Tuesdays. Take care 🌟 — Ethan Small actions add up. That is not a quote I invented. It is what the garden taught me before lunch.