I'm huge on spring and summer gardening. I'm really proud of my

“I’m huge on spring and summer gardening. I’m really proud of my perennial beds. That’s a passion of mine.” — thus speaks Steve Zahn, the actor whose words, though simple, carry the quiet poetry of one who has discovered peace not in fame, but in the soil. In this confession lies a profound truth — that the act of gardening, especially in the fullness of spring and summer, is not mere pastime but a dialogue between man and creation, a rhythm of life that reconnects the soul to the eternal cycles of renewal and rest. Through his love of perennials, Zahn reveals his reverence for endurance — for those living things that return year after year, reminding us that beauty need not be fleeting, and that with care and patience, life renews itself endlessly.

The origin of this quote reflects the quiet balance between art and earth that defines Zahn’s life. Known to many as a man of the stage and screen, he has spoken often of his love for simplicity — for life away from the camera, among the fields, horses, and gardens of his Kentucky home. There, he exchanges scripts for seeds, applause for the murmur of bees and the rustle of leaves. His perennial beds are not trophies but teachers; they remind him that life’s truest rewards are not instant, but grown. Each season, he tends the soil, trims the weeds, and watches the world bloom anew — and in that patient labor, he discovers what the ancient sages knew: that to care for living things is to cultivate the soul.

The ancients would have understood him well. For in every civilization, from the gardens of Babylon to the courtyards of Rome, the act of gardening was seen as sacred — a partnership between the divine and the mortal. The Greeks believed that the gods themselves tended gardens in Olympus, while the Persians built walled paradises to mirror the order of the heavens. Zahn’s love of his perennial beds continues that lineage, for he, too, joins in the timeless work of creation. When he says it is his passion, he speaks of more than hobby — he speaks of devotion, of a craft that brings him closer to the rhythms that sustain all life.

To tend a perennial garden is to believe in the promise of return. Annual plants live and die within a single season; they are the songs of summer. But perennials endure — they rest through winter’s silence only to rise again when the sun returns. In them, Zahn finds a metaphor for the steadfast heart. He does not plant for the moment, but for the years. His pride is not vanity, but gratitude — for to nurture something that outlives the season is to take part in a cycle larger than oneself. The gardener becomes both witness and participant in the endless resurrection of life.

History offers us many who have found their peace in the same soil. Consider Thomas Jefferson, the philosopher and statesman who, after shaping a nation, turned his heart toward the gardens of Monticello. There, among rows of beans, flowers, and fruit trees, he found what politics could not give — the quiet assurance that creation continues regardless of the world’s turmoil. “No occupation,” he wrote, “is so delightful to me as the culture of the earth.” Like Zahn, he was “huge” on gardening, and his pride was not in power but in growth. In every sprouting leaf, he saw the triumph of patience and the poetry of renewal — lessons written not in ink but in living green.

In Zahn’s love for spring and summer gardening, there is also an understanding of the seasons of the human heart. Spring is the time of beginnings, of fresh hope and light after the long night of winter. It is when the gardener plants not only seeds but dreams. Summer, in turn, is the season of fruition — of color, abundance, and labor fulfilled. To move through these seasons with joy, as Zahn does, is to live in harmony with time itself. The earth teaches him — and us — that every season has purpose, that growth is followed by rest, and that even the smallest act of cultivation can reflect the grandeur of creation.

Yet the lesson of the garden is not without challenge. To plant is to surrender to uncertainty, to labor without guarantee. Droughts come, weeds invade, storms undo what care has built. But still the gardener rises each morning to begin again. That is the hidden power of Zahn’s words — for in his passion, there is perseverance. To tend a garden year after year is to live with faith — faith that what we love will return, that beauty can emerge from toil, and that care itself is its own reward.

So, my child, let this truth take root in you: the soul, like the garden, must be tended with patience and love. Find something to cultivate — not merely to possess, but to nourish. It may be flowers or friendships, ideas or virtues. Pour into them your time, your labor, your heart. Be proud, as Steve Zahn is proud — not of what you own, but of what you have nurtured. For in the end, the greatest perennial is love itself: it may fade in winter, but it always returns with spring.

Thus, when Zahn says, “I’m huge on spring and summer gardening,” hear beneath his words the voice of an ancient truth: that to work with the earth is to understand life, and to love the perennials of the soil is to glimpse the immortality of the spirit. Tend your garden — within and without — and it will reward you not just with beauty, but with peace, purpose, and the joy of knowing you have joined hands with creation itself.