No matter the season, gardens are always ripe with life lessons and philosophical food for thought. As Spring pops out of every crevice and sprouts in the sunshine, amazing things happen. Greens thrive, garlic matures, and seeds germinate. Reseeded parsley sprouts from the garden paths, having escaped from the confines of the box beds. With Passover upon us, parsley hearkens to the bitter herb dipped in salt water - the bitterness of slavery and the tears shed thereafter. But it's not the parsley that brings tears to my eyes. Bindweed is a noxious weed. Roots dormant throughout winter are coming back to life and faster than you can shake a digging tool, the delicate green leaves consume pathways and garden beds. Keeping on top of bindweed is a Sisyphean task.
Sometimes I need help pulling bindweed. I often have to remind myself that I am not responsible for pulling all the bindweed, for bringing an end to war, climate change, homophobia, and indigenous degradation. Projects are supported by communities and everybody carries the burden of bitterness and feelings of powerlessness. But it is through that knowledge of adversity that we are inspired to make change, to pull bindweed together, to eat saltwater-drenched parsley in communion, and to know that we can ask for help when we need it.
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