Nirvana is a Cabin in the Woods

There’s one fool-proof method I can come back to- time and time again- to regulate my nervous system.

My feet on the step of a shovel.

My hands deep in the soil of the earth.

My heartbeat in my eardrums.

My breath warm in the cold air.

And a bead of sweat down my face.

Gardening and I fell in love quickly, driven by a deep primal need to move my body and create something new.

It started with meer houseplants, and evolved into a full clean up and tilling of the soil in the backyard of my rental apartment.

Except now, I don’t have to worry about my asshole landlord cutting down my tomato and strawberry plants.

5 acres of bliss, hugged by a curving brook and cedar springs.

My mother turns up her nose at my purchase-

“Are you going to be able to live up there?” She drops her voice low, as if the wind will smack some sense into her if it hears.

I sigh, “Well, I wouldn’t have bought the damn place if I couldn’t”

Nirvana looks like a wood fired stove, fresh coffee on the porch, and tall vegetable plants ripe for the picking. It sounds like chickadees chirping and deer creeping through the woods at dusk.

My little cabin in the woods.

The introverts paradise.

All mine.