Roots That Remember

The trail behind the old library was quiet except for birds and the soft crunch of gravel under my shoes. I had not planned to come here. My body just carried me, step by step, toward the trees like it remembered something my mind forgot.

The community garden sat at the edge of the trail, fenced but welcoming. Raised beds lined up neatly, each one holding something alive—collard greens, rosemary, tomatoes, aloe. I paused at the gate, hands resting on the cool metal. Motivation had been hard to find lately. Not gone, just buried under fatigue.

Ms. Evelyn was already there, kneeling with a small trowel.
“You can come in,” she said without looking up. “Garden open to everybody.”

I stepped inside and the smell hit me immediately—earth, green leaves, damp soil warming in the sun. Nature has a way of grounding you without asking permission. I knelt beside an empty patch of soil and she handed me a seed packet. Basil.

“Planting helps,” she said. “Not magic. Just helps.”

I pressed the seeds into the soil carefully, covering them with my fingers. The act was slow and deliberate. Gardening requires patience, attention, and repetition. That matters. Studies show interaction with plants can reduce stress and support mental well-being by encouraging mindfulness and routine (Lee et al.). I felt that truth settle into my chest as my breathing slowed.

We worked quietly for a while. No pressure to talk. Love does not always show up as affection. Sometimes it shows up as shared space, as letting someone exist without explanation. Ms. Evelyn hummed softly while trimming dead leaves from a tomato plant.

“People think growth supposed to be fast,” she said eventually. “But roots take time. If you rush them, the whole thing falls apart.”

That stayed with me. Health is like that too. Healing does not always look productive. Sometimes it looks like rest. Sometimes it looks like dirt under your nails and sunlight on your face. Exposure to natural outdoor environments has been associated with lower cortisol levels and improved emotional regulation (Hunter et al.). I did not need to feel cured. I just needed to feel present.

By the time the sun shifted, the garden looked fuller. Not because anything dramatic had happened, but because care had been applied consistently. Motivation followed the action, not the other way around. I stood, brushed soil from my hands, and felt steadier than I had all week.

As I left, Ms. Evelyn smiled. “Come back and check on your basil,” she said. “Plants remember who takes care of them.”

Walking home, I realized maybe people do too. Maybe love, health, and motivation all grow the same way—quietly, slowly, and stronger when rooted in something real.

Works Cited (MLA)

Hunter, Mary R., et al. “Urban Nature Experiences Reduce Stress in the Context of Daily Life.” Frontiers in Psychology, vol. 10, 2019, Article 722.

Lee, Min Kyung, et al. “Interaction with Indoor Plants May Reduce Psychological and Physiological Stress.” Journal of Physiological Anthropology, vol. 34, no. 1, 2015.