Mindfulness in the Garden

Tucked in the far left corner of my childhood home lived a handsome row of silvery-green-leafed Russian olive trees, Elaeagnus angustifolia. Beneath their thorny boughs—young knees to the ground and body in an earthly bow—I became a gardener at the tender age of eight. Gardening without gloves, I loved the feel of the earth in my hands: its rich, aromatic texture, warmed by the sun. I still do.

I surrendered many childhood struggles at the feet of those olive trees. I found solace in their silent presence. Grateful for their company, I instinctively knew my survival was intimately connected to theirs. As I stepped away from the carefully tended band of soil that held the olive tree roots firm to the earth, I saw the rich brown soil free from the tangle of weeds that once claimed its clarity. In this clearing, the knot in my mind loosened, and my heart was put at ease.

Now, many years into my practice as a landscape architect, gardening remains a true love. Nature is a place where I come back to myself. Whether it’s a window box, vegetable crop, fruit orchard, vineyard, a designed “outdoor room,” or simply a patch of tenacious weeds, a garden is the critical demarcation between what is wild and what is cultivated. When we garden—weeding, preparing the soil, planting, watering, tending, harvesting—we place ourselves at the edge, between what is wild and what is cultivated. Crossing the garden’s threshold, we enter into a direct relationship with nature and with ourselves. This is a relationship that must be recognized and consciously and compassionately entered. It requires that we garden with a heartfelt mindfulness.

When we garden—weeding, preparing the soil, planting, watering, tending, harvesting—we place ourselves at the edge, between what is wild and what is cultivated.

One way of cultivating mindfulness is through reciting gathas, or short verses that assist us in becoming present. Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh says that reciting a gatha “helps us to dwell in the present moment and to be deeply aware of the action we are doing so that we can perform it with understanding and love.” Each gatha waters the seeds of mindfulness within us, softening and cultivating the ground of our ability to be present.

Gathas are designed to be practiced in alignment with the breath. First, read the whole gatha, then, consider inhaling as you recite one line to yourself and exhale as you recite the next. So the first line would be in sync with your inhale, the second with your exhale, the third with your inhale, and the fourth with your exhale.

Practicing in this way, each four-line gatha becomes a gateway to a moment of mindfulness. What is mindfulness? Mindfulness is the awareness of what is around us and within us in the present moment. Looking deeply, and being with what is, frees us from getting caught in the past or the future. When we garden, the details of nature call to life all of our senses grounding us in the present moment. While weeding, for example, we use our sight to discern the beautiful glistening leaves of the native, noninvasive Redwood sorrel (Oxalis oregana) from the flat, green, stippled leaves of the invasive sour grass (Oxalis pes-caprae). We use our sense of taste as we nibble on a basil leaf or bite into a freshly picked, sun-warmed peach. We feel nature’s touch as we are gently brushed by the summer’s refreshing breeze upon our skin, cooling the perspiration of our labors of love in the garden. Attuned to our breath, we can smell the arrival of the seasons upon the wind. As we see, hear, smell, taste, and feel nature’s details, we become more present, and compassion and love grow within us. Gardening mindfully—being present with our shovels, our steps, and our gathas—we invite the mind to drop into the heart, and the tangle of our thoughts is loosened.

Walking in the Garden

Sole to soil,
I touch the earth.
In this communion,
my soul finds a true friend.

Set your intention to walk mindfully. Take a few deep breaths and just acknowledge that during your walk you will try to be aware of your environment and your internal state, thoughts, feelings, and sensations. As you begin to walk, first notice the sensation of each foot as it touches the ground. Witness the process of moving your legs. What muscles tense or relax as you move? Observe where you are stepping and the quality of each step. Expand your awareness to include your surroundings. As you walk, what do you see, smell, hear, taste, and feel? How does the air feel on your skin? Expand your awareness so that you remain aware of the sensation of walking and the external environment around you, while you also become aware of your internal experiences, such as your thoughts and emotions. What thoughts cross your mind as you walk? There’s no need to judge these internal experiences. Just notice them for what they are.

With our mindful walking we enter into a direct communion with the earth and with the ancient practices and rituals of the cultures buried beneath our highways and skyscrapers. We slow down. We excavate ourselves from the insulation and isolation of our daily routines as we bring our sole to the soil, mindfully connecting our steps and our movements with our in-breath and our out-breath.

We can make every step we walk in the garden a mindful step, one taken slowly and in connection with our breath. This is true wherever we walk in the world, but particularly so in the garden, where we are walking directly on the soil instead of on human-imposed materials such as concrete or asphalt. Touching the earth directly, we become more aware not only of the life above the ground, but also of the immense expression of life below the earth’s surface.

With our mindful walking we enter into a direct communion with the earth and with the ancient practices and rituals of the cultures buried beneath our highways and skyscrapers.

Consider the earthworm. It has five hearts called aortic arches, and it plays a vital role, providing passageways for water, oxygen, and nutrients to reach plants’ root systems by creating space within the soil. Five hearts! Every time I come across an earthworm while I am gardening, I say, “Hello there, thank you for the wonderful work you are doing.” I handle it with tenderness and love, tucking it back into the soil for protection from the sun’s glare, and perhaps from becoming a meal for an opportunistic robin rambling nearby. As a young child walking to school on a rainy day, long before I knew how instrumental earthworms were to the survival of the earth’s flora, I would pick up all the struggling worms I found on the sidewalk and street as I walked. Despite their slippery, squiggling bodies I carefully placed them in neighboring flowerbeds, preventing them from being crushed by our shoes and our tires.

Many of us long to return to our childlike curiosity and openness. Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh says, “Getting in touch with true mind is like digging deep in the soil and reaching a hidden source that fills our well with fresh water.” What we seek in this excavation, albeit perhaps unconsciously, is ourselves. With the advancement of technology and construction all around us, we have gained instant access across the globe via the internet and our many ways of traveling; however, most of us have lost contact with ourselves. Many of us lie buried beneath the tundra of our technological advances and our busyness. The slow, intentional cadence of mindful walking frees us from the tangle of serpentine electrical cords coiled beneath our desk. It returns us to the heart of life and restores our childlike wonder. We begin to see the jewel-like dew on the garden spider’s web with fresh eyes. We hear the mockingbird’s melodious song with fresh ears, and we smell the orange tree’s blossoms with our fresh in-breath. We learn to live in the present moment, and we come alive.

Sole to soil, I touch the earth.

Breathing in, we slow down.

In this communion,

Breathing out, we are free from the busyness of our lives and the serpentine cords living beneath our desks. We enjoy our freedom communing in nature.

my soul finds

Breathing in, we relax into nature’s welcoming embrace, and we come to know our garden and ourselves.

a true friend.

Breathing out, we build a true friendship with the Earth and all its inhabitants.

♦

Reprinted from Mindfulness in the Garden: Zen Tools for Digging in the Dirt by Zachiah Murray, 2025, with permission from Parallax Press.