There Is a Hole in My Heart

Holes make my heart sing

Holes make my heart sing

for all that I love

is hole-y

Joy is a shovel in hand

moving dirt, making holes

gardening brings me peace

True delight finding a big rock

digging it out, making holes

feeling grand accomplishment

Preparing the land to receive

little sprouts, seeds, and bulbs

yes, needing more holes

more satisfaction

Needle and threading

the finest of holes

a hole-y garment

needing repair

brings not disappear

but a deep connection

generations that made me,

whose hands fixed holes as I do

a deep contentment and belonging

fills me to the brim

Making bread needs

a punch, a hole in the middle

cooking hamburger

needs a press, a hole in the center

all to make bread and burger better

Sitting in meetings, jotting notes to self

making holes in co-workers faulty logic

feeling my brain grow with each punch

find the gap, the opening, the hole

was a family dinner time game

Yes, making holes in the ground,

repairing holes in cloth,

using holes to improve food,

finding holes in thought

all make my heart sing.

CFCHRYST

2021 NB, NY

Where the heck did I dig up this idea?

Turns out I have a long history and relationship to “holes.” As a very young child my parents let me attempt to dig a hole all the away to China. This project kept me occupied for an entire summer. Covered in Red Virginia Clay (Glenelg soil) and fairy dust (Mica) I was certain I would accomplish my goal. Of course my parents were well aware that the Indian Ocean is where I would pop out, should I get past the bedrock and through the earth’s crust. But they were never ones to interfere with a passion project.

Family vacations to the mid-west typically involved traveling through the Allegheny Mountains using the tunnel! The Allegheny Mountain Tunnel system was considered an engineering marvel when it was built. The idea that humans blasted a hole through this mountain always amazed me. The trip through the tunnel was something one had to be awake to experience! My siblings and I always insisted on being awakened no matter what time we reached the tunnel. We could not miss the 6070 feet of joy!

One day working in the garden it occurred to me it was the physical preparation for the growing season I loved most about farming/gardening. I discovered that the act of digging holes and turning raised beds made me very happy. The feel of using the power in your legs to push the shovel into the dirt, the physics of using leverage to move the dirt coupled with the repetition of the process brings me a sense of calm. A bonus is finding a large stubborn rock. Coaxing the rock out of its location and putting it somewhere more useful offers a sense of accomplishment.

My discovery blossomed into a mindfulness of all the holes I encountered in my life. The common thread is the transformative nature of holes. Successfully threading a needle, requires carefully negotiating of the tiny eyelet! It is as I age, a battle that requires a magnifying glass. But the focus and concentration of the moment makes me very happy. Bringing a garment back to life and extending it’s usefulness by repairing holes fills me with great satisfaction. Hand-sewing connects me to all those who came before me, from my grandmother the amazing seamstress/taylor to my triple great grandfather, the hat maker. I am among all who used their hands to repair and improve the function of the clothes they wore.

Exploring the role of holes in cooking has been a delightful adventure resulting in homemade french bread, English muffins, potato rolls and burgers that fit perfectly into their buns. The step in the process of making theses things that captures my attention most is punching or pressing a hole into the product to dramatically improve it. A curiosity remains to be solved related to pasta making.Why should I dig a well in the center of the pasta flour to achieve good pasta? Is it tradition, mechanics, food physics, or something else?

These relentless questions are another childhood remanent related to holes. The dinner time conversation was ripping holes in presented arguments and scenarios by questioning every angel of logic. I had 12 years of hearing and engaging in deep analytical mental hole-punching. This deeply engrained way of thinking unsettles my colleagues while leaving me with a feeling of being grounded. Grounded by a long standing family tradition passed down generations on my father’s side and fully embraced by my mother’s hunger for knowledge as well as truth.

Though not the typical knit and pearl, piecing quilts, or painting route to tranquility that many follow, my hole-y discovery lead me down a much smoother path than I’d been traveling. I will admit the potholes in the drive have me beat so far. But I love a challenge, especially when it involves holes. Holes simply make my heart sing and transform my life in so many beautiful and functional ways!