Gardening

[maggies_lens]

'Gardens are full of memories - of places, of plants, of people, of beauty created and shared, beauty which can be lived and enjoyed again and again years later. In a mostly incomprehensible world, a world increasingly dominated by cruelty and fear, it is gardens that many people seek and find, veen if temporarily, peace and tranquilty.' - 'Rosehips and Crabapples: A Rose-lover's Diary'  by Susan Irvine.

I couldn't have said it better myself. While Irvine's book is about uncovering the beautiful gardens of Forest Hall in Tasmania which had been neglected so long, I think her quote there reflects what so many gardeners feel. This world is a harsh place. I don't mean so much in nature although She too is unforgiving, I mean people. We seem so hell-bent on destorying ourselves and the world around us. We seem to have disconnected to the natural world. But the movement back towards growing something, anything, seems to...well, it's like we're trying to reconnect. I sit in this office tonight, surrounded by plastic, electricity, air conditioned artifically heated air.  The plants in here are fake. Unless I bring in a flower. I feel so dislocated. Like the outside doesn't exist. Even when I go out to the yard it's all concrete. The wind brings scents from the bakery which is lovely, but it's not 'real', I prefer the feel of the ice in the air. But take me to my little garden and suddenly I feel the world. I don't mean the people although my garden brings me many joyeous memories of gifts, working together, chatting about plantings... I mean the earth itself. The rich loamy smells, the feel of cold earth on my fingers, or the passion-stirring feel of earth warming up in Spring and all but trembling under your hands with vitality. The visual healing of soft curving green and brown lines, with the pleasure of gently nodding jonquils and snowdrops. The tantlising tease of the buds sleeping on my trees. Don't get me wrong, it's not some paradise, it's hard work. You mow, weed, water, dig, fertilise, set borders. But the whole time I breathe the air created by my little trees. I chew on spinach or whatever veggies happen to offer themselves, so fresh you can still taste the sap oozing out of the stems if you let it sit on your tongue.. You can taste the sun. I don't have enough of a way with words to really bring it across, but you do taste the sun and the soil itself when you eat like that. I love watching the birds in the garden, even if they are just common sparrows and magpies and mynahs. I adore watching the studs of parrots fly overhead. And on a lower level, there are the insects to watch. Sometimes I just lay down in the grass and look, you know? Just look. I let my mind wander, and just observe. I reconnect. Somehow when I'm out there, carefully checking a litte tree for signs of bugs or disease, or when I am gently easing seeds or tender little seedlings into place and patting the earth in place, I just ... I don't care about the things the TV says I should want. I don't care about someone's race, creed, religion... esp not if we're sitting there gossiping like hens about the best way to deal with water restrictions and do we think that rose there needs pruning and what do you reckon, should I try for a different colour combination in my flower garden this year? Can I squeeze in one more tree?  I don't care about deadlines. You can't rush a garden. Oh sure, you can plant one of those insta-gardens like they do in the bliltz shows. But those things are so soul-less. They never got the chance to tell you what they wanted to be. They are never the peaceful, wild and playful things that make kids want to run around, touch, smell, taste, climb. Or adults for that matter! You have to let the garden show you what it wants to become. You have to learn your soil, your individual little micro-eco-systems. The shape of it. The temper. It's like getting to know a new lover. Take it slow and listen, touch gently, that's how you form that relationship that lasts. Why rush it? Things will grow, or they won't. You'll get a crop, or you won't. You'll learn, whether it be through success or failure. It's how you learn that counts.