A year ago at this time, when snow covered all my world, I was sitting in my study at my computer, happily searching garden topics.  I planned and re-planned my backyard.  I studied and shopped.  I bought the Square Foot Garden book and read it carefully. I talked with Dear Husband and Daughters — garden, garden, garden — was my whole conversation.  I devoted myself to my garden.  A garden is performance art, visual art, and musical art. The harvest: food for the body, food for the mind,  food for the spirit.

This year I am sitting in my study at my computer, but in China. I long for my garden, it’s time to start planning, and even planting with protection.  Chinese people plant gardens in any available piece of ground.  I see gardens along a fence, or in a little space outside an apartment, on a balcony, or on a roof.  I have no tools or supplies to follow their example.

This year I have a different garden—one of the mind and heart.  I’m nurturing people instead of plants.  I’m using language instead of soil.  I’m listening to students instead of birds, insects and wind.  I have classrooms, not raised garden beds.  I’m considering compositions, not compost. Last year, I left the garden before the final harvest.  This year, I will too.