Alexandersmap

    Tag: gardening

    • Could’s and Should’s

      “The life that I could still live, I should live, and the thoughts that I could still think, I should think.” — Carl Jung, The Red Book

      New Hampshire in mid-May is a strange place of transformation. The trees and shrubs are leafing out and flowering, perennials are bursting out of the ground in eager anticipation for the warm days ahead, but it’s still two weeks too soon to plant annuals here for the danger of a killing frost. We must be patient with the garden, even as we wish to get on with it already. But everything has its time. The gardener knows the season.

      There are magical days ahead for you and me. There are dark days too—we know this to be true. The trick is to savor today with a measure of faith in our tomorrows. These are days we’ll remember fondly then, just as our yesterdays are for us today. We must therefore dwell in this moment with an eye towards the future and the footing of our past. We may delight in this if we choose to.

      “Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.” ― Kurt Vonnegut

      The afterglow of amazing experiences can be disorienting. It’s like trying to take a picture through a pane of glass with the light reflecting back on your camera, obscuring the clarity of what’s on the other side. We can’t forever dwell in past experiences, but what is the shelf life on memories? This is who we are now. The could’s and should’s of our future self are ours to consider before taking the next leap. Still, we may savor today. Still, we may take the steps for a worthwhile and transformative tomorrow. We simply must know the season we’re in.

    • Gardens and Purpose

      One of the neighbors won the town’s garden of the month award for June. He does have a lovely garden in the front yard. I imagine it was especially satisfying because the guy next door to him, someone he’s been in something of a rivalry with for twenty years, won this particular award years ago. As a neutral party, I’ve heard both sides of this particular story, and am well-practiced in steering the conversation on to other things.

      My own garden has never won the town’s garden of the month award. I believe this is in part a result of my distinct focus on the backyard garden, which I view as an oasis, and maybe also a distinct lack of focus on winning this particular award. But the whole thing got me thinking, maybe it’s time to double down on the front garden? Maybe it’s time to show some gardening spunk?

      I look around knowing the work I put into the garden, knowing the battles with the weeds and the trees. And I wonder, what is the purpose of all of this anyway? I’m not chasing awards. I’m not growing a meaningful amount of food for my family. So why do it at all?

      Simply put, the garden is a place for me to meditate for a while. A place to pay my penance and focus on something besides myself. A handy escape destination during a pandemic or after a particularly long commute. And an expression of hope for the future and optimism for my place in it.

      I suppose that’s enough. Still, I am competitive. And that award looks awfully nice sitting in the neighbor’s front lawn…

      Which brings me to purpose. What are we invested in? What prompts you out of bed in the morning? What’s your why? Those two neighbors up the street are retired now, and things like gardening awards drive them. I’m driven by experience, and the garden is a vehicle to get to the experiences I want out of my time on this plot of land.

      For all the frustrations of a garden – like getting a catbird out from the inside of the elaborate netting I’d put around my blueberries, installing fencing to keep the rabbits out, and the battles with the other assorted pests that test my patience, there’s an underlying message in the work. It all ends up being the purpose. About having a go at something and making it work against the odds. Anyone can do easy – there are plenty of pristine lawns across America. A garden says something else entirely about you. It says that we want something more and we’re willing to work for it.

      Maybe that deserves an award after all.

    • The Magical Hours

      Water patterns reflect on the tree trunks, illuminating the bark and lichen in a dance of morning light. The wave patterns slowly fade as my bathing suit air dries in the early warmth. Birds and chipmunks fill the air with a soundtrack of their greatest hits. It’s going to be a scorcher today, they seemed to agree.

      The house wren that moved into the bluebird house dominates the conversation, but the chipmunks have a lot to say too. Until I stand up and abruptly reset the agenda from banter to assessing the new guy. In the sudden hush I catch the sound of a woodpecker, unseen, seeking a meal in a tree somewhere in the woods. The bass tone indicates deep work.

      It’s such a short time, these magical hours spent in outdoor spaces when everything in the world just seems perfect. No bugs, no pollen, no shoes, no problems. That these days exist at all is a blessing. I imagine this is why people live in Southern California, where every day is this kind of perfect. Here we take what we can get while it’s here, and boy do we love it when it’s here.

      Early mornings are reserved for the knowing few. I catch a glimpse of a neighbor out watering potted plants as I do the same with my own. We nod a greeting to each other and return to the work at hand.

      The garden isn’t the same as Mother Nature. Magic doesn’t just happen in a garden, you’ve got to put the work in. These are the days when you’re rewarded (or punished) for the work invested in a yard and garden. Harvest is still weeks or months away for the vegetables, but we’re entering peak season for the flowers.

      How do you know when you’ve reached a peak? When the world aligns in moments of wonder? When everything just seems to click for you? Or do you have to wait until you’ve declined from your peak, when things aren’t going as well and you see, maybe for the first time, just how good that moment was?

      I’m past peak when it comes to athletic performance, but haven’t yet peaked in my learning. If fitness is the flowers in your garden, learning and mental development is the fruits and vegetables, often taking until the very end of the season to fully develop. Like flowers your fitness level doesn’t have to stop midway through your season, and like vegetables you can find enlightenment well before the end of your season.

      There are no hard and fast rules in life or gardening, but there are seasons to honor and work to do in each. In each day there are moments available to appreciate the blessings that have come your way. Those magical hours that seem to fly by so quickly when life seems just about perfect in every way.

    • Dog Days

      This is the big weekend on the Cape, with the Falmouth Road Race pulling in thousands of runners. It’s big in Pocasset too this weekend, bursting at the seams. The house was full of dogs this morning. And people. But the dogs steal the show as usual.

      Beach work and gardening to earn a swim. Tread water for 20 minutes, bobbing like a buoy on the rollers. Summer days of salt, sun and sand. Sailboats quietly cruise by. Power boats buzz by too, with too-loud conversations over the engine noise. Yes, sound carries over water.

      A moment of quiet now, waves lapping on the beach, deck umbrella creaks as it twists to and fro, runners gone to check in and pick up numbers. Half the dog population and their people have gone home. A few of us remain, holding down the fort. Witnesses to the parade of boats floating back and forth. Sun warming all. These are the dog days of summer. They never last, and changes are coming too soon. Today is all we have, and with that in mind, it’s a lovely place to spend it.

    • Design Elements

      This morning our backyard is filled with bluebird song. There are 3 to 5 of them up in the trees, flying about and announcing to the world that this is an extraordinary morning. Other birds – cardinals, robins and the like, are playing the rhythm section in the background. Lead guitar is firmly with the bluebirds. And of course it’s by design – keep filling the feeder, put up the birdhouse and they reward you with song. The opposite is true as well. I stopped filling the other feeders in May and the cardinals, jays and finches have receded into the background. This immediately prompts thoughts of the Cherokee story about the two wolves for me (which wolf wins? The one you feed), but in a slightly different way.

      We all design our lives to attract what we desire into it. The work we do, the people we surround ourselves with, the habits we form, and the media we consume are all design elements that move us forward on the path or set us off course.  And design doesn’t equal results.  Sometimes the bluebirds fill the yard with song, sometimes the timing is off or they’re filling someone else’s yard.  My neighbor on the other side of the fence gets the same bluebird song without earning a bit of it (Then again he’s not outside to hear it anyway).  You keep doing the right things and eventually you build the life you’ve wanted for yourself.  And sometimes the rewards you’ve earned benefit others.  I planted daffodil bulbs on the corner of our street with the main street.  Those daffodils rewarded thousands of people driving by, though the majority of those people barely noticed them at all.  I build playlists and fill the house with music with the same intent, and perhaps the same result.  I’ve built an itinerary for Scotland in the fall that I’m especially excited about.  Hopefully the results surpass the design.

      I tend to fill social media with pictures of the kids, the garden, places I’ve travelled to and  generally the positive things about plodding through this life together.  Plenty of people use the same platform for negativity or to point out things they’re angry about, to cry for attention, or to somehow teach the rest of the world that they were right all along about something or other.  Who knows which of us is right, but I do know that’s not for me.  Whenever I post something I’m angry about I feel like I’ve taken a step back in my own development, so I try to filter it out before it lands.  Abraham Lincoln had a drawer full of angry letters to his generals and other people that he never sent.  I’m trying my best to use social media the same way.  What moves us all forward?

      My morning was filled with bluebirds and hummingbirds and the sound of thousands of drops of water hitting the ground as the tree leaves shake off the overnight rain in the breeze.  My evening will be filled with celebration and music and friendship.  In between I’ll so the work that must be done to enable all of that.  Yard work and cooking and building playlists and touching base with family and friends.  In general being actively engaged with life…  and the life you want.  You never know if the bluebirds will come, but you do what you can to attract them anyway.

    • Soggy with a Chance of Rain

      There are places in the world experiencing severe drought.  This is not one of those places.  New Hampshire is one of many states experiencing significant rainfall.  The rain seems to be with us day after day after soggy day.  I don’t mind the rain at all, but I like a little balance with my weather.  And so does the garden.

      The lawn looks as good as it’s going to look.  Most of the foliage is thriving in the garden as the plants are drunk with rain water.  The constant rain has also greened up the forest, providing deep shade that the ferns seem to thrive in.  A walk in the woods right now would require rain pants as much as a rain coat.  The drawback of course is that the rain has delighted the mosquito population.  I keep emptying the birdbath so they don’t use it as a breeding ground, but lets face it, there’s no shortage of wet places for mosquitos to breed this month.

      And not all plants love the rain.  The tomatoes are growing but being constantly wet isn’t good for them.  Likewise, the Supertunias are suffering from the constant wetness on the flowers and leaves.  The cilantro looks genuinely annoyed with the weather.  These are plants bred for hot sunny days, not April showers in June.  But that’s the state of spring in New England most years now.  And so we make the most of it, the plants and me too.

      If the garden accelerates with the rain, traffic does the opposite.  Things slow to a standstill when you add water to roads, and this week has been tough for commuters.  People drive more slowly, and people that drive carelessly have less room for error, resulting in more accidents.  Indeed, the highways are more unpleasant with this weather, and so are the people on them.

      But the garden offers refuge.  A little rain doesn’t stop a gardener, and I was out in the garden early this morning surveying things before getting to work.  And things are looking up.  The plants, for the most part, are thriving.  My water bill will be lower this June than in years past.  And the weekend looks like a return to sunny days.  Things are looking up, even in a downpour.

    • Life in the Weeds

      Gardening is 80% maintenance and 20% appreciation for what you’ve accomplished.  That ratio is likely way off the mark.  It could be closer to 99% maintenance.  This morning I was weeding the garden in dress clothes, using the time before I went to a birthday party to weed one of the beds.  Such is the mind of a gardener that I thought to do this in dress clothes instead of tackling it before I showered and put on my Sunday best.  I managed to keep most of the dirt off anyway.

      Weeds are what you think they are.  Most plants that naturally grow in your yard are natives that thrive in that environment, while others are aggressive invaders that, well, thrive in that environment.  I didn’t invite the dandelions, clover, chickweed, maple seedlings and crabgrass to the party.  But Leopard Plant Ligularia, Black Eyed Susan and the most aggressive of all, Morning Glory were once planted with eager anticipation for the show they’d put on in the garden.  And the show is nice, but the seeds cast about in the wind growing everywhere?  Not so nice.

      Make no mistake, I don’t mind weeding.  In fact I’m quite fond of it.  Time weeding is “me time” (nobody else is volunteering) when I can think about anything or nothing at all.  And it’s a part of the deal.  You want a garden?  Get down on your hands and knees and bow to the clover god.  And when you’re done with clover there are dozens of Leopard Plant babies popping up all over the place.

      Chemical sprays can kill weeds pretty quickly, especially in the heat of summer, but I try to use them in moderation.  It’s one thing to spray the brick walk to knock down the weeds popping up in between.  It’s another thing altogether to spray in an active garden.  No, this is a task best accomplished with a good pair of grippy gloves and a comfortable pad to kneel on.  And that’s where you’ll find me a few times each week, busily filling a galvanized steel bucket with weeds.  May it go on forever.

    • Lilacs in Bloom

      A garden is a complete sensory experience, and any gardener will tell you that the smells of the garden are as memorable as the sights.  Monarda smells like tea leaves (because they are), tomatoes and marigolds announce the return of summer with a sniff of their leaves and stems.  Basil, mint, rosemary and other herbs have their own delightful fragrance. And of course the flowers offer their own too.  We’re witnessing the long parade of flowers each in turn announcing their time to shine.  For the last couple of weeks that time has belonged to the lilacs.  Their dance isn’t nearly long enough before they recede into the background of the garden like most flowering shrubs.  The magic in lilacs is the fragrance. And they sway in the breeze releasing it to all who come nearby. I make a point of visiting every chance I get, but notice others who love lilacs as much as I do never make the effort to pay them a visit. So I quietly bring them inside to perfume the kitchen. And celebrate spring in New Hampshire.

       

    • Filling the Void

      Filling the Void

      Looking out into the woods behind my house you might see a thick stand of trees, deep green leaves, and dappled sunlight.  I see the void.  That dappled sunlight shines through a clearing made when a massive oak tree snapped in two during a storm earlier this year.  The morning after it happened I walked out to survey the tree, and posted a picture of it on Instagram at the time.

      Months later we have sunlight streaming down to the ground where for years there was nothing but shade.  The natural order of things if for the void to be filled, and over time that sunlight will spur growth in the woods as trees that patiently waited their turn accelerate their growth.  There’s an excellent book about this that describe it better than I could.

      At this point in my life, I’ve seen enough people depart this earth to understand the analogy that this big oak tree represents.  As the giants in our lives pass we must fill the void left in their absence.  People drift apart or we lose loved ones.  Staying connected is challenging, and ironically the technology that connects us more easily creates disconnections in other ways.  Having a conversation and making eye contact with someone is in our DNA.  Texting or liking a post on Facebook isn’t quite enough.  As I get older I recognize my own role in filling the void more than ever.  Empathy and love are the cornerstones, but being present to recognize and help fill that void are essential.  So I’m trying to be more present and see the voids that I previously hadn’t.

      Earlier this month I glanced over at the empty flower box on the shed in my backyard.  The builder wasn’t thinking about gardeners when he or she built it, they were thinking about quickly tacking something on the front of the shed and moving on to the next shed.  As a result the flower box is undersized, which requires extra care in watering and feeding plants you put in it.  Compounding this is that the shady corner of the yard the shed sits in doesn’t give enough light for many annuals that you might put in a flower pot like this.  As a result I usually hadn’t bothered with planting anything in it.

      This year I decided to fill this little void in my backyard garden and sought out shade loving plants that could thrive in this tiny ecosystem stapled to vinyl siding.  Buying plants for me is a lot like playing music.  With music I usually know what to play at the time based on the mood of the room and the audience (well, as long as the audience likes music I like).  With gardening I usually know it when I see it.  Sometimes I get it horribly wrong, but most of the time the garden forgives me (even if teenagers won’t forgive my playlists at times).

      The resulting fuchsia and coleus combination has indeed thrived in this flower box.  A once blank space in the garden has become a favorite spot for me.  And the hummingbirds seem to appreciate the addition as well.  Sometimes the voids in our lives announce themselves abruptly, and sometimes they’re right in front of you for years.  I’m glad to have filled this one.