Lessons From the Garden

Saturday, our daughter and I attended a Western Landscape Symposium. Partly because we are new to this area, this unique climate, and mostly because we love plants and gardening, we looked forward to a full day of learning and listening to experienced gardeners who love what we love. She signed up for a plot in a community garden which she can start working in next month. I have a raised bed with chard, beets and spinach held over through the winter, and in a couple weeks can start some of the cool season crops.

We were surprised by how much the speakers love what they do. Their delight and enthusiasm was contagious, whether they were talking about soil or bugs or landscaping or vegetables.

The gal who talked about knowing the condition of our soil is a thirty year veteran of soil study and soil love. (I have some sons I thought might make a career out of dirt, the way they reveled in it when they were younger.) This gal thrilled to talk about and share her knowledge. Obviously, what she shared with us was just the tip of the iceberg of all she knew: chemical properties, the living, breathing processes going on in our soil, [a new term I learned: aggregation, the microbial exudates (micro-poo) that aggregates in our soil, increasing the porosity, aeration and drainage in our soil - love that thought, micro-poo from all the critters in the soil], and that some factors of our soil cannot be changed. Some things we just have to accept and work with. For example, here in the west, our soils have lime. In the east, gardeners add lime. She suggested a test. Put some soil from the yard in a container and sprinkle vinegar on it. If there is lime, it will foam up, like when you mix baking soda and vinegar. We tried it when we got home, and sure enough, the dirt fizzled and sizzled. The presence of lime means certain plants will not do well. Don't expect to grow eastern plants in western soil. Accept that, and plant what thrives here.

Lesson:  What do I love to study and talk about?            
             What conditions do I need to accept and work with, not against?
             How about you, how would you answer these questions?

The bug talk was my favorite. A huge surprise because I am a gardener squeamish around bugs and crawly things. Ugh. This man, an entemologist walked onto the stage wearing red converse. We knew right away he would not be boring. Understanding that the larvae and the different stages of an insect's life each require a different type of food, shelter and needs was fascinating. He actually plants certain types of flowers and plants to attract those shuddery creepy crawling things I attempt to avoid. Or eliminate the moment I see them. He encourages them. He encourages his grandchildren to admire the caterpillars that will turn in to beautiful butterflies, accepting the little bit of leaf damage they do as part of the process of the beauty they will create as the mature butterflies flutter around our gardens drinking nectar from the flowers. I have a new perspective. When I see one of these caterpillars, I can think, "Oh look, you are a baby butterfly." I won't go so far as to say, "Cute," but I understand, in a new, deeper way, that there is give and take in nature, in my garden, and accept the processes that go on as part of God's created world, part of His design. 

Lesson: Those in life who bug us, who annoy us - understand they have needs of their own and when possible, provide for those needs. If we understand and accept, we have a better chance to happily co-exist.

The gardener who talked about growing vegetables was a many year veteran of community gardens, working in schools, low income neighborhoods, churches and businesses, offering classes and advice to encourage healthy eating and understand our food and where it comes from. He also was a deep well of experience and information, listing specific varieties that do well in this area and techniques, full of stories and joy that overflowed as he described delicious produce. Made me want to crunch on raw vegies, fresh from the sun-warmed garden (a few months from now).

Lesson: The work we love should be shared with others, for their benefit and nurture.

Where we live is considered high desert. Many of the homes landscape with rock. As renters, we work with the landscape our owners put in, which, fortunately for us, includes some patches of grass and evergreen shrubs. With the decorative rock. I don't mind, as long as there is some green, and they said I could plant whatever I wanted. We will be under water restrictions this year, limiting plant choices. We have lived with water restrictions before, and I know how to be wise and save what water we can to use on the plants. The gardener who talked about landscape listed many, many beautiful plants that require little water, flourish in this climate and offer much more beauty than rocks. I can't wait to get started - another week or two, and we can start planting. Yes!

Lesson: No matter where we live, whatever our circumstances, with creative thinking and work, we can create little spots of beauty.

photos from Passionate Gardening, Lauren Springer

Halcyon

My one word theme for 2013 is quiet. I meant to write more about it, delving deeper into various meanings, but this past month I have felt, well, quiet. Haven't posted as much as usual. Not sure exactly why, but my excuse is practicing quiet.

When I think of my ideal quiet day, I think of the beach. The beach, however, is not a quiet place: waves pound on the shore, wind roars across the sand, seagulls screech, sand blasts against your face, your clothes are blustered and hair whipped by the wind. I had to laugh when I thought of it that way. Why do I think of the beach as a quiet place? Perhaps because it marks some of my favorite get-away destinations. Visits with families who had a beach house gave us moms time to chat and breathe while we kept a quiet eye on the kids. House-sitting opportunities at a beach house gave us the luxury of living in a place we could never afford. There are memories of beach-side hotels that offered pleasant retreats for my husband and I. Visits with distant family meant beach trips in Hawaii and the Gulf of Mexico. One house where we lived was close enough to the beach to take frequent afternoon trips for the kids to play in the water and the sand. Even with the wind howling, the waves crashing and the seagulls screaming for our food, beach days were quiet days.

At one beach house where we visited friends, a storm moved in. The tides were predicted extremely high, swallowing the sand, up to the low brick walls protecting the patios. Over the afternoon we watched the ocean turn from blue to green to gray to violet to indigo to navy blue to black, and the storm was on us. A quiet afternoon? Not in the forces of weather, but the kids all played outside as long as they could, tossing the tennis ball into the water and watching for the waves to toss it back, their sweatshirts wet in the cold spray.

From our house where we lived in the central California coast area, we would drive to the Pacific Coast Highway, turn north, and travel about thirty minutes to Pismo Beach. It was a great kids' beach. A long, slow, gradual slope, waves that came in gently at low tide, hard-packed sand perfect for playing and building. We loved to go mid-week, a benefit of home teaching, after the morning school work was done, a quick lunch packed, and often, the beach was practically deserted.

One drive, I don't remember why, we turned a different route off the Pacific Coast Highway, left on a street named Halcyon. At that point, we were still on the bluffs, the homes high, overlooking the coastline. After a block or so, the road appeared to drop out from underneath us. It plummeted, seemingly straight down for several hundred feet. The kids all screeched, some in panic, some in delight, like on a roller coaster ride. (I admit, other times when we drove this route, I would crest the top of the hill and let off quickly on the gas pedal to create a greater feeling of anti-gravity and increase the fun.) The road dropped quickly to sea level, to fields of strawberries, lettuce and broccoli, crops that flourished year-round in that perfect sea climate. Never too hot, never too cold, ideal for growing.

Halcyon looped across the green fields and joined the road that took us along the coast to the section of beach we liked. The dictionary says the word halcyon is from the name of a legendary bird that "had a peaceful, calming influence on the sea at the time of the winter solstice." The afternoons at the beach created for us a calming influence. A time to relax and play, to enjoy being with each other. I would take a book, but rarely read it, choosing instead to gaze at the waves and the kids playing together, and watch for the occasional dolphin or sea lion. We loved to go in the winter when the beach was pretty much guaranteed to be empty. The water was too cold to swim, but they would play, tossing a football or frisbee. Or, they would build sand creatures or castles. Or sit and enjoy the scenery, no responsibilities, nothing to do but relax. Or collect seashells. Or bury each other in the sand and take silly photos.

"Halcyon days," is a phrase from literature and music, denoting nostalgia and remembrance. Our granddaughter, when she was little, knew to go to her "happy place" when something frightened her. We were at a lively restaurant with animated animals displayed in the jungle scenery. When the elephant above our table trumpeted, she quickly retreated into her happy place, her eyes shut tight, humming a little song to herself. Then she cried and a kind waitress let us move to a table less populated with four legged creatures. For me, the beach is my happy place, a place where the tranquility and beauty soak into my soul, creating a sense of deep quiet.

When I realized, however, that the beach is really not a quiet place, I also realized that the sense of quiet can be achieved in the middle of a normal day's chaos. The noise of a normal household, the clashing personalities, the challenges of learning and growth, the demands of duty and responsibility all create wear and tear, like the waves pounding out their rhythm on the ever-changing sand. Even here, there is calm and beauty and peace and halcyon days.

We do not live near the beach anymore.  I am learning that a state of quiet is from within - not a result of idyllic external circumstances. It is rooted in a tranquil heart. At any time I can choose to retreat to my quiet place, a place of trust and love and being loved and grace and being deeply grateful. There, always, there is quiet. My biggest surprise in understanding quiet is that it is not about stillness or quantity of words or volume of sound. There is an energy in quiet, like the ocean waves surging deep below the surface, powerful. And I still have much to learn about quiet.

Harmony

"Be ye all of one mind." 1 Peter 3:8 KJV
"To sum it up, let all be harmonious, sympathetic, brotherly, kindhearted, and humble in spirit." 1 Peter 3:8 NAS

"But this is not unison; it is harmony. When an orchestra produces some great musical masterpiece, the instruments are all of one mind, but each makes its own individual contribution. There is variety with concordance: each one serves every other, and the result is glorious harmony."

                                                          -John Henry Jowett, My Daily Meditation

Joining the quiet Sunday community with Deidra