Gardening gloves are for sissies. I always have dirt under my

Hear, O children of wisdom, the words of Hilarie Burton, whose declaration rings with the voice of strength and connection to the earth: "Gardening gloves are for sissies. I always have dirt under my nails." These words, spoken with humor and defiance, reveal a deep truth about humanity’s relationship with the earth. Gardening, like all acts of creation, requires a willingness to engage deeply with nature, to get one's hands dirty, and to work in harmony with the soil. In this simple act of touching the earth, Burton’s words remind us that true growth—whether in the garden or in life—requires both effort and authenticity.

In the ancient teachings, the earth was always seen as a living entity, a source of both sustenance and wisdom. The Greeks revered Demeter, the goddess of the harvest, who symbolized not only the earth’s abundance but also its power to shape human lives. The ancient Egyptians too understood that the soil was sacred, as it provided the foundation of their civilization, nourishing them with the fruits of the earth. For them, working the land was not just a task but a sacred act of creation, one that required deep engagement, not detachment. Burton’s words capture this timeless principle—that the act of gardening is not for those who wish to stay clean and distant, but for those who are willing to get their hands dirty, to become one with the earth.

Consider, O children, the life of the great gardener and naturalist, Thomas Jefferson, who, despite his high station as a president and statesman, was deeply connected to the land. Jefferson’s love for gardening was not about keeping his hands clean or maintaining an image, but about understanding the land, working with it, and learning from it. He believed that the act of gardening was a means of connecting with the natural world and with the divine order. For Jefferson, dirt under his nails was a badge of honor, a sign of his commitment to the land and his understanding of the interconnection between man and nature. In this way, Burton’s words resonate with the wisdom of those who knew that true engagement with the world requires effort, humility, and a willingness to work hard and get dirty.

In the ancient traditions of Native American tribes, there was a deep reverence for the earth and its cycles, and their connection to the land was not a casual one. The Iroquois and Cherokee people, for instance, practiced sustainable farming, knowing that the earth was not to be exploited but tended to, with careful hands and a humble spirit. Gardening was not just about gathering food, but about learning to live in harmony with the natural world, to respect its cycles and to become one with the soil. Burton’s defiant statement calls us back to this ancient wisdom—that when we choose to work with the earth, we choose to become intimately connected with the natural world, its rhythms, and its power.

The lesson here, O children, is one of authenticity and effort. Gardening, like all acts of creation, requires us to engage deeply, not just with the soil, but with the process itself. To grow something from the earth is to connect with the primal forces of life, and it requires hard work, dedication, and a willingness to get your hands dirty. Burton’s words remind us that in a world that often values cleanliness, appearance, and convenience, the truest form of growth comes from authentic engagement—from working with the land, from putting in the effort, and from accepting the messiness of life.

What, then, should we do with this wisdom, O children? We must embrace the work of our hands—whether it is gardening, crafting, or any other endeavor that connects us to the earth and to our innate creativity. Let us put aside the desire to remain clean, the desire for perfection, and instead, immerse ourselves fully in the work at hand. Get your hands dirty, whether in the soil, in art, in relationships, or in any other pursuit that nourishes your spirit. In that mess, in that effort, lies the true beauty of life. When we connect authentically with the earth and with our own creativity, we become whole, grounded, and rooted in the world around us.

So, O children of wisdom, remember the sacredness of the earth and the power of authentic engagement. Embrace the work of your hands, and let the dirt under your nails be a symbol of your dedication and commitment to the natural world. Whether you tend a garden, create art, or build something with your own hands, let your efforts be guided by purpose, and let your connection with the earth shape your soul. Through this deep, meaningful engagement, you will find that true growth comes from working with the world, not from avoiding its messiness but from diving into it with full humility, passion, and integrity.