There’s something to be said for the unexpected lagniappe that connects us, often unconsciously, to our lives through gardening.
I went down this rabbit hole the other day while prepping my yard for the upcoming transition to cooler weather. I made myself savor little things, like the chatter of newly arriving migrating feathered friends jousting squirrels at the bird bath.
There are chores to tend, of course, the routine givens of keeping the garden going smoothly and providing few flowers and cooking herbs for the house. Keeping the lawn mown, leaves raked, and dead limbs pruned from the Japanese maple. Replacing fading peppers and zinnias with cold-hardy kale and violas, and pressure washing the sticky dark honeydew that dripped from a neighbor’s tree off my flagstone walks and patio furniture.
But physical and technical challenges aside, we also think and feel, making it vital to tend our hearts and minds, where the little things come into play. And like with everything worthwhile, putting our hearts and minds into gardening inevitably unleashes rollercoasters of emotional responses and reactions.
This is important to recognize, in these divisive days when seems like everyone is polarized over everything, and solastalgia - the nearly crushing anxiety caused by the weight of things affecting us that are beyond our control - sets in. And gardening offers the solace we need.
Here’s the rub. Though everyone has an overlapping dollop of both, there are two main approaches to gardening: product-driven and process-savoring.
Goal-focused gardeners looking for Lawn of the Month, freezers filled with home-grown produce, windowsills of African violets, the first tomato, or other hard-won accomplishments or accolades, use everything at hand in search of efficiency. They do their research, plan ahead, keep mental to-do checklists, and show immense dedication, attention to detail, and follow-through. For many, like making up the bed even when no one will see it, a finished lawn gives a feeling of satisfaction, of being able to look over shoulders for visual proof of something accomplished. Helps us feel like we have a grip on life.
The other side of the coin, which again most goal-focused gardeners share, deliberately process-oriented gardeners delight in the everyday acts along the way, regardless of the destination. They fully appreciate sensory aspects - sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and feels. They notice migrating hummingbirds being replaced by arriving winter songbirds. Every passing butterfly gives pause for celebration, every new spider web a marvel.
They love brushing through rosemary along the path, the smell of burning leaves, sound and feel on a leaf rake, and chatting with folks at the farmers’ market. To them, the satisfaction of actually making of sun tea is more important than how it tastes compared with kitchen brewed. Nothing is more important than showing my little granddaughter how to snap snapdragon flowers.
I’m bent this way to the point where, anticipating my tomatoes not making it to full maturity, I sometimes use a Sharpie pen to draw smiley faces on green tomatoes - which after all may be all the interaction I get, results wise, but for that day it was enough.
And I refuse to get out the WD-40 to fix the old screen door, because I appreciate the weathered hinges’ loud creak and the slap-slap-slap shutting sound. Reminds me I am crossing a threshold, just as the falling leaves bring into focus the gradual, subtle liminality of these changing seasons.
Older folks will understand all this; here are my hopes that some of it will influence new generations to focus, think, feel, and savor the here and now. It can save some sanity.
