The garden is an integral part of my life, and consequently, it is difficult for me to imagine why anyone would wish to live without the joy of eating one’s own produce, watching a treasured cutting turn into a flourishing shrub, or sitting in the midst of one’s own creation on a warm spring evening – be it on three acres, three-tenths of an acre, or surrounded by three overflowing pots. Yet, as insular as I can sometimes be, I am aware that there are those who do not share my great love. There are many that regard gardening as a duty performed for no other reason than to keep the Housing Association letters at bay – and I admit that trying to evangelize you is challenging. Each week I preach to the choir – but also to the uninitiated; striving to bring the heretics unto the green fold, spouting clouds of love for carrot and chrysanthemum, and regard for all things green. But why do I think that gardening should be a part, however small, of each of our lives?
Those of us who garden do so for a myriad of reasons. Some of us are species collectors – dealing in the latest cultivar of Austin Rose or the largest tri-color dahlia on the Eastern Seaboard. Some are rare plant collectors, cultivating perennial and shrub gardens that would never rub shoulders with common gardens like mine. Some of us raise bountiful vegetable gardens to feed families and friends. Some have cut flower gardens to insure their houses are never without a splash of color. Some gardens are born of impoverishment; some are born of great wealth. The reasons for gardening are as varied as the gardens themselves, yet we all share one fundamental premise whether we realize it or not – the joy of being connected, in some tangible way to the Earth. And this, my friends, is extraordinarily important for one simple reason; the pace and scope of modern life is one of perpetual disconnectedness.
We have just witnessed the end of a century that started with horse-drawn carriages traversing dusty streets and ended with robots traversing the dust of Mars. Yet thousands of labor-saving devices haven’t made us a quieter, more reflective people with time on our hands, they have merely given us more hours to fill with other activities; sometimes (aided by the miracle of electric lighting) far into the night. This “business of being busy” is the proverbial elephant sitting in the middle of the living room. Everyone can see it, or at the very least subconsciously feel that it is there, but no one does anything about it. We pretend it doesn’t exist, that it is a fact of life, that there is nothing we can do. We cannot open the door and throw it out; we don’t know how. And even if we did, we wouldn’t want to appear radical or inadequate – so our busy, crazy, frenetic pace of life sits in every room of our house staring at us and smirking as we try to ignore it.
Enter The Garden
Here we cannot hurry the easy ebb and flow of life. There is only so much time for work, regulated by the passing of the solar day from sunrise to sunset. Sure, we can micromanage a plant here and there, but Mother Nature is more than likely to have the last laugh in the end. In the garden we experience the life cycle of plants from seed to compost pile. We witness the passing of seasons, without the fanfare of high priced decorations. We create painted landscapes and exquisite still-life pictures from the simplest plants, the humblest flowers – and never touch a brush. We can reconnect with creatures that spend their entire lives in the basic pursuits of eating, procreating and caring for their young – and wonder at how our own lives have somehow diverged from this universal path.
In the garden, life makes sense again. The earth gives off sweet smells that invite us to plunge our hands in and get them dirty, and for a few moments, the artificiality of the modern world is laid bare in contrast. In the garden, food looks like food. There is no such thing as a veggie stick or a gummi-fruit snack. We don’t have to have a Master’s Degree in applied chemistry to create a delicious pan of stir fried peas or to trickle olive oil over a crunchy head of Romaine. We share something in common with those who have gone before us on this Earth and, one hopes, those who will come after. And somehow, every gardener, whether he looks after those three pots or those three acres, knows this instinctively.
If you have always found yourself on the outside of this world looking in, the chances are that you regard your outside space as yet another place for that elephant to sit, taunting you with his To Do list; and you have long ago changed what could be your sanctuary into your cubicle. Could reclaiming that space as your safe-haven be as easy as a change of attitude?
It might just be worth trying.
The garden is a place to forget about our stock portfolios, debt ratios and carpool schedules and concentrate instead on the beautifully mundane issues of life like the type of pea supports to use this year, and whether there’s a rugosa cultivar with a double pink bloom. These simple pursuits are what keep us sane when the world feels foreign and overwhelming.
And I’m happy to say there is no App for that.
