When I first met the plot of land destined to be this garden, it was a lawn area surrounded by Rose of Sharon bushes, two fig trees and two gardenias. It was plain and simple, and the temptation was to leave it that way, and not start another garden like the one we left behind. Mow and be done, I thought. But some time that winter, there was a shift in the universe, and a vision formed for something more--a garden as a project I could sink my teeth into. Something I could form and develop over time and learn and grow alongside. So that next garden season I carted in 7 yards of soil and created lasagna layers in the form of beds related to the N/S axis. I created the pathways, and an herb spiral. Since, I have developed the perennial area, worked on shade garden areas, and brought in fruit trees and edible perennials. What I learned was not so related to specific plants or gardening techniques. While equipment for my creative outlet of choice(weaving) was tucked away until it had a place to settle(a studio), I found myself floundering and oppressed. On the one hand is was nice to have all the freedom I had longed for from plans and projects--I thought that could be so delightful. But in reality I was depressed. Bepaw(Mr. L) was busy with his construction project, designing, managing, coordinating, building. I was bereft of a goal or creative outlet. It has only been in retrospect that I have made the connection between the garden as creative outlet and my mental health. It wasn't so much the work, or the being outside, but the envisioning and working toward a desired outcome. It very clearly illustrated the deep human need for an expression of creativity. I believe our innate creativity is a reflection--evidence if you will--of the character of our Creator. How can this thing dwell in us so deeply, and so persistently, without having a basis in some source? How can we spring fully bloomed with a personality and not have some recollection of the founding Person? This year, the fourth year of development, the garden is beginning to really take form. There has been discouragement, and there have been moments I've thought I should bring back the sod. But in spite of post-season burn out, each winter I've planned and plotted again to bring more form and function to the area. The work is starting to pay off. And I am learning what works and what doesn't. But mostly I'm learning about my need to express my Creator's character, not just in the hunger for creative outlet, but in the patience and wisdom to know that true change and growth takes time.
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Rough weeding is done and the plants are in. I am working my way back over all the ground to detail weed, and it occurred to me last night that, before this spring is over, I will have touched every square inch of this garden with my bare hands. I will have crawled along behind the Roses of Sharon, stretched under the peach and cherry trees, and bent low along the fence line to pluck the unwanted greenery stem by stem. I will have lifted the feathery stalks of the carrots, followed weedy stems to their base among the strawberry plants, and pinched or scraped the thousands of wort-like weeds off the ground under the persimmon tree.
It seems a form of consecration. I've always thought I wanted to have a relationship with land--to have a piece of turf that I knew well enough that I could recognize every inhabitant, including the ones that pass through seasonally. In order to do this, I have to know the soil, the worms, the insects, the plants, the birds. Intimate weeding has brought me closer to this place. And shown me the extent of involvement needed for the garden to flourish. Spurgeon said, "Let us always plow to the very end of the field, and serve our day and generation to the extreme limits of our sphere." Plowing to the end of the field involves both breadth and depth. The intimate knowledge and whole-hearted involvement in every square inch of our sphere is the best we can offer. We can do no more, but must determine to not do any less. A teacher recently challenged me as to where the concept of a "calling" is in the scriptures. "Make your calling...sure," is about salvation. "The gifts and the calling of God are without repentance," is specifically about the Jewish people. There are principles, yes, but the idea that we have one life-long calling or purpose is difficult to find. The sphere(of influence) Spurgeon references can change for us as we travel through the stages of life. The important thing is to commit to what is before you, and plow. And plow. Just as I see myself consecrating the garden with the touch of my hands, the field I'm in needs the same consecration...friends, family, fellowship, To the utter ends of the field. Previously mentioned at Kiss the Garden: Delivery of an abundance of plants to plant.
I received a garden catalogue mid-winter that I had never seen before. Wow! You can get a lot of perennials for real cheap! I need perennials. I'm ordering some!! And I did. All told, I think the package contained almost 75 plants, because, gee, you can get 10 of these for $3.95 and 12 of these for $6.00 and I need three packets of those cause I need to mix up the different types, and then there were the freebies and perennial mixes thrown in for good measure. Such a deal! Now, of course, I'm feeling like a slave to my garden. Shockingly these plants came as bare root, so I can't ignore their plight for very long and I need to get them in the ground. I knew I knew I knew they would show up when I had the least amount of time to deal with them: houseguests, final project at the university, End of the Year program for our students, more houseguests, holidays. And weeds weeds weeds to contend with before I can entrust these babies to their new homes. I tried to prepare, and I nagged the catalogue company for insight into delivery date. They couldn't be pinned down and I was ill prepared for when they hit my mailbox. Ironically, the plants were to be delivered on the day of the tornado, but the tracking notice said there was no access to the delivery site. Puhleeeese! A mere tornado will stop you from delivering?! But I was expecting a box. Or boxes. Of plants with green tops and maybe packed with a bit of dirt around their roots. Instead I found a plastic bag stuffed into my mailbox. Ouch (on behalf of the plants.) All told, I'm dealing with my own naivete. About a lot of things. Tornadoes for one. Small print in garden catalogues for another. And that thing about the best laid plans, etc. But mostly I've come face to face with my own personal limitations again. Both in my understanding of this world's system(s), and in my ability to cope with an avalanche of things out of my control. I'm okay with that. It is actually a good place to be. But I'm headed straight out to the garden today. Hours to go before I rest..... Last Friday was the day of preparation for Pesach. I spent much time in the kitchen and decrying the fact that the horseradish I intend to grow in the garden hadn't even arrived from the nursery yet. (When the horseradish came, and all the other accompanying perennials, I was certainly underprepared to get 50 plus plants into the ground--but that's another story.) All day we received tornado warnings on our phones. But we've received those before, and never did a tornado darken our paths. The family went north to go ice skating. I took a walk in the forest with my d.i.l. and granddaughter. We were all out in the world and vulnerable when eight tornadoes (so they say) touched down around us to the west and north west, within a mere couple of miles and skipping over our immediate vicinity. We had no rain, no wind, no sound of a speeding locomotive. Just the dark heavy sky, lower than I've ever seen. We scoffed at tornado warnings. We mocked wussy locals who skitter into hiding at the slightest threat of "weather." But we will be more attentive next time, I assure you. Our sense of safety and well-being was rooted in the familiar. The air was soft and pliant, the sky dark, but unmoving. Yet when two types of air(warm and moist in the lower atmosphere, cooler in the upper) meet and their relationship becomes unstable, the inherent power hidden within the meekness of mere air can become staggering. "People who have not been in Narnia sometimes think that a thing cannot be good and terrible at the same time," it was said of Aslan. To a certain degree everything has a touch of each, especially if we are to experience to any degree the beauty, power and, yes, holiness, of creation and creation's God. Yes, tornadoes are made of sky, and the sky is most often beautiful...and without air there is no life. Yet, even air, invisible, ubiquitous, can rumble with a power that confirms how small we really are.
While it's raining outside, the temperatures are warm, and the world is greening up. I've pulled out my box of warm weather clothes and am struggling each morning to know what to wear, my grasping fingers must be pried off the black pants or heavy jeans, and the long-sleeved shirt with a sweater. That is spring here. The switch is miraculously quick, such that your head spins. This is one in a series of series of "out the window" photos, that have chronicled the change of seasons in my new home. The window at the end of the upstairs hallway is my first stop before descending the stairs to the coffee pot and the start of day. I often find the view magical, and it sets the tone for the gift of the day to come.
Yes I've been trying to make friends with the weeds, my unintended garden inhabitants. I want to say "visitors," but they seem to set up camp with every intention to stay. So I've been meditating on Weed-dom quite a bit, and do have to correct some previously-stated misconceptions.
The weeds don't belong in my garden. They are indeed more like the little foxes in the vineyard, than the gift of a place-holder I was hoping they could be. They do bring in more green-ness, but they are invaders and crowd out what I want to see in the garden, be it aesthetics or provision. Moreover, they speak to me of how my life gets out of hand when untended. How little thoughts and actions can creep in and establish themselves as habit, then grow and grow, until I am no longer the image of who I want to be. These thoughts need to be taken captive, and our actions need to obey the truth. Otherwise the garden gets overgrown and any fruit attempting to manifest withers, rots, or gets infested, and the life--the garden-- is unproductive. So I am watching the weeds. There are more now than I can keep at bay, but I can limit their impact by removing all that grow too big and threaten their surroundings. And one day, I know, the garden will be purged. Purified. Sanctified. It is April, and the forecast for the day included snow. I was disappointed when it didn't happen. But better still is the rain that is watering the seeds I've been tending for over two weeks. Poppies, Lupines, Violas and, of course, the grass seed...
…which seem to be just sitting there, encased in green paint, or whatever it is they use, mocking me as they rest on the surface of the earth. I am lowering my expectations again, and my vision of a green carpet in the meadow areas is dissipating. But so is my capacity to care. It is one more thing --quite a simple thing really--to give up to the God who created all things. Not that the weeds and the bare ground cannot agitate my soul each time I pass by, but I can capture those thoughts and focus on more important things, like how to get the garden dirt stains out of the knees of my one-and-only pair of jeans? Ah. Another mystery. The antidote to mystery is revelation. Revelation is God's territory. And, yes, I'm (sort-of) joking about the jeans, But I am willing to receive from Him any revelation available, knowing full well He is an excellent judge of my ability to handle it. So I don't mind starting with something small. Grass seeds, for instance. Or red-clay stains ground into my jeans by immersing myself in the garden. But of late the best revelation has been of a glimpse of the depth and intensity of His love and sacrifice, for me. For you. For the love of His created beings. Inexpressible. Last growing season the garden had the opportunity to go its own way while I was traveling--two separate times over a week each. Each time, the unintended plants (read: "weeds") took advantage and carpeted the ground with their lush green presence. It was bright and lively, but the intended plants were screaming "Help!"
Arriving home from the first trip after dark, the first thing I did was grab a flashlight and inspect the garden. Oh my. What a profusion of laughing, taunting weeds, as far as the flashlight beam might flash. My field biology teacher in high school maintained that there was no such thing as a weed, just a California native. And on the grander scale he is right, since it is only our preferences that determine who belongs in our garden and who doesn't. As for me--let the natives play elsewhere, I'm growing food! But I paused a moment in the garden yesterday and wondered if I could somehow make friends with the unintendeds. After all, they do appear to be winning the battle, and I need to find a different tack. Perhaps they provide a service as a place holder until I can get the preferred plants in. And they do make the garden look green. Isn't that better than the look of scorched earth or gray pavers squashing the life out of the soil? So I'm going to shake hands with and express gratitude to my unintendeds--before I relocate them--and grant them the opportunity thereafter to add their efforts to my compost pile. Yes. I've decided finally to compost them, overcoming my fear of spreading their seeds, for 1) there are so many of them I don't know where else to put them, and 2) I'm determined to compost well enough to overcome weed seeds. I don't know if making friends with these unintended plants is more a matter of attitude, or if there is an action to take, but at the least, I don't want to feel like I'm constantly in a green battle. We will see. Too early is bad, too.This has been a wet and therefore muddy winter. The dog chasing a Frisbee on the meadow kicks up divots to make the rankest of golfing novice proud. The whole area needs repair---reseeding, feeding, weeding---whatever -ding will help. But I am a rank novice in lawn care. No. Worse. I have a goodly number of failures under my belt. I fear the next failure is imminent.
I ordered lawn seed from a catalogue. So green and lush was the photo on the web site. Good for all seasons, it says. I ordered a small bag so I could create a test plot before committing. This year I have reviewed all my seed packets ahead of time to determine when and where (inside or outside) they should be sown. Huh. Nothing specific on the grass seed. Ah well. I just knew I wanted to get it in before the ground dries up. What was I thinking? I don't know where the seeds are now. After staking and raking, seeding and re-raking, I proudly surveyed my work. Then two days later the rains came. I can only assume the seeds drifted to the massive puddle that has been forming beside the walkway, and now I am plagued with indecision as to what to do next. What is the next step, besides avoiding stepping in the enhanced muddy biome that is now the welcoming entryway to our home? I may have to declare a wetland (ephemeral, of course) and claim I can't touch it due to preservation principles. Tempting. Very tempting. So. Yeah. Happy First Day of Spring! My calendar says it's time to plant some seeds, inside and out. The Mexican Sunflowers and the Artichoke needed to be sown indoors two days ago. The violas, poppies, and other wild seeds, needed to be sown outdoors a week ago. But the tomatoes, peppers, hyssop and rudbeckia, are peacefully nestled in the fine potting soil that is theoretically designed for seed starting. This was the year I was going to set a schedule and stick to it. This was to be the year I wouldn't feel like I was always behind and running to catch up. But I'm only half on schedule. I am behind again.
Fortunately, plants have a certain graciousness of their own, and a flexibility I'm learning to depend on. Of course, there are limits. And success is based on not exceeding those limits. I've had several years (a couple of decades?) of procrastinating a consistent time of meeting with God. Understand, I think it is absolutely amazing--incomprehensibly incredible!-- to think that He would want to spend time with me and hear from me for a concentrated, undistracted, time. I've known this in my head, and it called to my heart, but I couldn't get through certain blocks. I see now that so many of the blocks were the voice of doubt--the voice of the enemy-- that would say "you have too much to do, get going," "you don't know how to do this right," "you are not an intercessor", "where are the answered prayers to confirm this is even effectual?" I would say to people I would pray for them, and then feel guilty knowing that I didn't have a particular "list" I could add them to and bring them before the Lord in some consistent manner, so I would pray a short shotgun prayer and assuage my guilt. But a watershed moment happened when I encountered a fairly innocuous quote from a book a good friend sent my husband. In Letters to the Church, Francis Chan explains about when he heard from the Lord to leave the mega-church he'd founded. The relevant sentence: "I had more peace in obeying what I thought I heard than in ignoring it." I don't know if I am "doing it right." I have yet to see specific requests answered. But I do have more peace in obeying and even some days powering through, than in ignoring the long-heard call to prayer. I'm still working on not being distracted, and overcoming the flesh that wants the "environment" and all to be just so before I can open my mouth to sing and speak to the One who made me. But this lifestyle is so much sweeter. And as with sowing the seeds on schedule for this year's garden, I depend on the graciousness of the Lord. I'm late. I know I'm late. But I’m here now and I'm determined. |