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Have you even been in such a foul mood that nothing can lift you out of it?  I had one of those moods descend upon me this week.  The type of mood that makes me want to swear off any contact with the human race (my inner three-year old throws a massive tantrum – “No!  If you’re not going to play my way, I just won’t play at all!)  I had what Holly Golightly would call the “mean reds.”

So I weeded the garden.

Weeding the garden never fails to calm me down.  By the time I reach the back of the garden, where the raspberry bushes are alive with the buzzing of bees, I’m in a zen state.  Sometimes, I sit down, right there in the dirt, and watch the bees work, hovering and buzzing, digging into the tiny blossoms, and filling their legs so full of pollen it’s a wonder they can fly at all by the time they’re done.

It’s probably a mixture of the physical exertion that weeding extolls on my body, and the focus of my mind on a single task that brings about a change in my mood.  Maybe it’s the care and stewardship of something outside myself and my little concerns.  Or perhaps it’s just the fresh air and smell of soil and chickens in the yard.  Whatever it is, it’s cheaper than a psychiatrist, and reaps tasty rewards by the end of the summer.

Kingsley, getting a little garden therapy too, hiding in the asparagus ferns.

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