Every spring, for the last fifteen years, we have planted a garden. In recent years, much of this has fallen to our friends, Greg and Amber, who share in the spoils of chard, kale, carrots, beets, garlic, lettuce and berries of all kinds. But we all do our small part. Mine is weeding, which I find satisfying, like cleaning. The kids are tasked in the spring with the daily watering of starts. My husband, Johnny, an engineer at heart, is off creating new spaces on our eleven-acre property to be enjoyed. Amber, the animal whisperer, sees to the sheep, and Greg is our resident green thumb.
When I look out at the garden from our porch, bursting with blossom and shoot, foliage mounded up and overflowing its bounds like some caricature of abundance, I am reminded of the relationship between effort and satisfaction.
We value what we nurture.
But more than that, our nurturing is a kind of partnership with the unknown. We till the soil while it is still barren. We plant seeds, impossibly small. Specks, flakes, like particles of dust — how could these prove to be the genesis of bounty, excess, beauty, joy? Into the dirt they go. The mundane world shrugs, yawns as we go about our business. Watering, pruning, raking the bare earth, we perform our ridiculous rites under a leaden sky, ablutions that seem sheer superstition. For what evidence have we that the crop will sprout? Who are we to create something from nothing, to take up our partnership with Life? Life, that has granted us the very existence that makes possible our partnership and toil?
The fledgling green struggles upwards toward the light.
Perhaps this is the way of all things that have the power to provide true sustenance. They have their origin in the improbable, the hidden, and require first faith and then effort, faith’s handmaiden, to manifest. Our modern world promises to fulfill our every whim with the click of a key, the acquisition of yet another object we don’t need, manufactured at a discount in some far off land, subsidized with human suffering and environmental degradation, and engineered to fail, for its true function is not to fulfill a need, nor to express the ineffable, but to realize a profit. Destined for the landfill, our newest acquisition gets an early start, practices being trash in the living room, the den, the patio where it can degrade in sunshine its plastic veneer was never designed to withstand. We reap the harvest of a garbage society; the landfill grows by leaps and bounds, but unlike my garden it will not return to the earth for thousands of years.
I’m no better than the rest.
But I’m interested. I notice. I check the easiest impulse, provide that breath of a moment that allows it to dissipate, like the tick of a nervous condition. I dig a little deeper in myself, for I sense true soil. Even if the blight should take my harvest, it is secure, for the effort itself is the fruit of my labors. I supply what I reap: my ministrations nurture me, long before their true object blooms. I picture gardens in the winter wastes — and then, I plant my seed.
Very thought-provoking. I would have to say capitalism, consumerism, and materialism have taken over human life in this century. And we are the poorer for it.
Well said. It’s like all things — the double-edged sword. On the one side, enterprise, opportunity, and freedom, and on the other side, exploitation, greed and excess. And now, because we are analog beings living on an analog planet which means we are bounded by our physicality, we’re running up against the limits of that paradigm. The earth is a good teacher!
I loved your posting. It nurtured me as I read it. It really goes to the heart of our
fundamental place in the world. And yes, the earth is a good teacher. Thanks again for
your thoughts.
I’m glad this hit home for you, as I suspected it would. We’re so trained in our culture to seek outwards for expansion. The real surprise turns out to be that the experience of real “movement” comes as much from seeking inwards, from depth not breadth, and from where we’re coming from, not where we’re getting too. I’m so grateful to have you in this conversation!
I love your postings and am so impressed by your deep thoughts. Thank you! Though this time I was a bit envious when I saw that photo of all those beets and carrots. I suffer from being too tender-hearted when it comes to thinning the young seedlings so my fledgling greens may never be fully fledged — but the leeks, onions and zucchinis are thriving.
Ha! Yes, it’s hard to uproot the little ones. I feel the same way about all the Alder saplings that have taken root on our creek banks, and now they’re sadly crowding each other out. As for your greens, they can be MICRO greens, which is very fashionable. I still want to interview you, by the way, so I’ll talk to you at our next meeting about how we might make that work. I am glad you like the blog, because I am your greatest admirer!
Sometimes sinking deep can bring so much breadth of understanding and pleasure in
living. I’ve often been surprised by it. Love the opening you are creating for these kind of
conversations.
I love how you are engaging with me — thank you!
Delicious post!
That photo makes me want to whip up one of my fave combos…
at least 1 large raw beet, peeled and shredded
at least 1 large carrot, peeled and shredded
at least 4 walnuts, chopped
2 or more tablespoons raisins
about a 1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar
about 2 tablespoons olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
(sometimes I throw in some cumin and garlic, or cilantro, or other herbs)
In a bowl, place the shredded beet and carrot. Add the walnuts, raisins, vinegar, olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste. Mix lightly so as to retain the separate red and orange colors.
2. Chill for at least 30 minutes before serving
I’ll try it today. The beets have gone CRAZY. I think I’m seeing red!
I love the idea of nurturing as a “partnership with the unknown.” I garden the way a fish dances the hambo, but I have a daughter. I embraced a baby with inch-long hair sticking out around her face, and now she’s a vibrant young woman applying to colleges. Nurturing is so different from controlling. It allows the unknown to bear fruit in unexpected and delightful ways.
That’s so true. I remember reading books about raising babies when I was pregnant, and I had this whole idea about how it was going to look. Of course, it wasn’t like that at all! So much better, but I had to give up (and keep giving up) all my ideas. Influence is there, but it’s truly a partnership, and in the end, it’s another life. I suppose that’s the same thing with almost any aspect of life.