Gardening

Autumn is such a nice time of the year in Corvallis. After a dry summer, the thirsty earth soaks up the gentle rain. In the hills above our town, shades of gold and orange dot the evergreen forest, as swirling clouds from the West announce the coming of winter.

October calls the gardener outdoors for many chores. I find my most peaceful moments raking leaves that whisper the sad song of good-byes, or pruning branches that bore us fruit and gave us shade, or planting bulbs that will herald the coming of spring. Kneeling over the earth, I find my best moments reflecting about myself, and the world around me. I am reminded that there are seasons to everything on this earth, and within us. That seeding, nurturing, reaping, pruning, and decaying are but cycles of life and death that make us who we are; that many a seeds I planted earlier in the spring never took roots, like many great ideas conceived in the passion of the moment never go on to change the world. Yet some seeds blown from somewhere manage to find a home in my own backyard; and that we can pray for sunshine and dance for rain, but much of what comes from the sky and the wind is beyond our control. We should just receive it with grace and humility. And that too much of a good thing can wilt plants, just like overeating can kill our bodies and greed can poison our souls.

The way we garden is an expression of ourselves or of our superego. A garden is a place where we think we can wrestle the control of living things from Mother Nature, and reshape the world, our world at least, to our own definition of beauty. Yes, I have to confess that in my garden, I have played God among living things, and divided the world between beautiful and undesirable, friends and foes, good and evil. In my garden, I have practiced racial profiling and affirmative action, and even ethnic cleansing with my weed digger, only to inflict at times much “collateral damage” to my more valued plants.

Gardening allows me to rediscover that my bare hands are still the best tools I have, and that patience and moderation are the best virtues. There is diversity at every corner, for there are plants that thrive in the shade, and plants that thrive in the sun; plants that demand an abundance of water, and plants that are grateful but for a few drops of dew. My garden can bloom in its greatest splendor, but only if no tree monopolizes the sun above, and no single species captures all the resources buried in the soil below. I humbly learned that the weeds and pests I tried to eradicate all summer long hold the survival gene that we, humans, wish we could possess. Finally beaten by the tenacity of these creatures, I decided that perhaps they too have the right to be happy under the sun and in the rain. Even in my own backyard.

Soon I will retreat from my garden, as winter sets in, still mourning this year’s natural disasters and on-going man-made calamities. Perhaps one can bring back the words of Thomas Paine: “These are the times that try men’s souls”. When spring comes, I will pick up my gardening tools again. Next time when I kneel down over the earth, I will remember that all that I have learned about myself and about my world, I have learned in my garden.

Published in “Local Writers’ Corner” of the Gazette Times (Corvallis) and Democrat Herald (Albany) – Sunday October 29, 2006

			Vincent’s Irises Silk painting by Le trung Chinh