What is a Garden?
"To most people, a garden is that portion of their yards that has been planted, tended, or landscaped. It may be a small vegetable patch, a bright flower border, or a carefully landscaped outdoor room. But a garden is far more than just a planted space. It is a touchstone; a repository of memories that forms a place of joy in your life. A garden exists not only as part of your backyard landscape, but as a site that resides in your imagination, a collection of personally satisfying images that can be expressed upon your land."
From "The Inward Garden" by Julie Moir Messervy
I am re-reading this fascinating book that has been on my gardening shelf. With my plans for working in the yard scrapped because of a late freeze, I am reminded that all gardens - -like all good ideas -- begin first in the mind, in the imagination. So I garden with my eyes, seeing the curves and rows that can begin when the ground is not so cold, when the sun returns again. These are good times for contemplation of what can be and what will be.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Monday, March 20, 2006
Spring Break
The week dawns rainy and damp, which is much needed after over 167 days of no rain over 1/2 inch. My garden is, to say the least, confusesd and dazed from the early heat. Already the white star magnolia and hyacinths are in full bloom several weeks early.
And we'll probably still have a freeze, probably on Easter Day. In addition, I wouldn't be surprised to see a tornado or two with hail thrown in just for good measure. Such are the gods of weather in Oklahoma during spring.
I'm am not deterred. Although I have to don heavy sweats and boots to trudge outside, I purchase two small redbuds -- the Eastern variety, which bloom later than the Oklahoma Redbud. These are native to Oklahoma and so work well with the variable weather patterns.
I just like how they look -- all frayed out and magenta and heralding spring. I like them much bettter than forsythia's which are the true harbingers of spring in these parts.
I set the small trees out along the curved path that I've outlined with my garden hose. I have to try several positions before it looks OK. I finally put them along the curves so that they are staggered with the existing red buds and the "path" that is still just an imaginery curve with an old garden hose. This pleases me, though, even though its temporary, it feels like I'm making progress with this project.
I envision evergreens now in front of these pink and purple statues, which will make a good break both for privacy and for beauty. Somewhere, though, I will have to accomodate some shade. I have two spots marked out although right now there are some twigs that Dan planted and he insists that they are alive, although they look a bit anemic to me. I figure if they don't leaf out by mid spring I can convince Dan that we can get some larger twigs, maybe some with leaves on them, and plant there.
What is left to decide is the design of the path which I'm still comtemplating. I'm wondering about using some wood and stone design. Or I may just try some gravel. One thing I know -- I will lay dark black week control under whatever component I choose, having learned the hard way with last year's path that unless I do so, the bermuda claims the path and I have way too much weeding. I think that the US Army should create some deviant form of Bermuda that may grow more quickly than it does here in OK. If they did, then perhaps they could use it in combat and simply throw a sprout on an enemy -- say from a few miles away -- and then in a matter of minutes, the bermuda could completely overtake the enemy, stopping it in its path. You gotta admit, this could be a real "green" way to wage a war, although I don't know if it would be any more humane. Suffocation could commence within a few minutes and imprisonment from the bermudas sprouts could cut off entire limbs before it could be reigned in. I could see entire brigades brought to a complete halt simply by this method. I can see soldiers have post-traumatic stress when they arrive home and see Bermuda in their yards because of their memories on the battlefield.
I guess, with weather as wierd and unpredictable, though, bermuda is a good plan to have for the yard.
And we'll probably still have a freeze, probably on Easter Day. In addition, I wouldn't be surprised to see a tornado or two with hail thrown in just for good measure. Such are the gods of weather in Oklahoma during spring.
I'm am not deterred. Although I have to don heavy sweats and boots to trudge outside, I purchase two small redbuds -- the Eastern variety, which bloom later than the Oklahoma Redbud. These are native to Oklahoma and so work well with the variable weather patterns.
I just like how they look -- all frayed out and magenta and heralding spring. I like them much bettter than forsythia's which are the true harbingers of spring in these parts.
I set the small trees out along the curved path that I've outlined with my garden hose. I have to try several positions before it looks OK. I finally put them along the curves so that they are staggered with the existing red buds and the "path" that is still just an imaginery curve with an old garden hose. This pleases me, though, even though its temporary, it feels like I'm making progress with this project.
I envision evergreens now in front of these pink and purple statues, which will make a good break both for privacy and for beauty. Somewhere, though, I will have to accomodate some shade. I have two spots marked out although right now there are some twigs that Dan planted and he insists that they are alive, although they look a bit anemic to me. I figure if they don't leaf out by mid spring I can convince Dan that we can get some larger twigs, maybe some with leaves on them, and plant there.
What is left to decide is the design of the path which I'm still comtemplating. I'm wondering about using some wood and stone design. Or I may just try some gravel. One thing I know -- I will lay dark black week control under whatever component I choose, having learned the hard way with last year's path that unless I do so, the bermuda claims the path and I have way too much weeding. I think that the US Army should create some deviant form of Bermuda that may grow more quickly than it does here in OK. If they did, then perhaps they could use it in combat and simply throw a sprout on an enemy -- say from a few miles away -- and then in a matter of minutes, the bermuda could completely overtake the enemy, stopping it in its path. You gotta admit, this could be a real "green" way to wage a war, although I don't know if it would be any more humane. Suffocation could commence within a few minutes and imprisonment from the bermudas sprouts could cut off entire limbs before it could be reigned in. I could see entire brigades brought to a complete halt simply by this method. I can see soldiers have post-traumatic stress when they arrive home and see Bermuda in their yards because of their memories on the battlefield.
I guess, with weather as wierd and unpredictable, though, bermuda is a good plan to have for the yard.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Rainy Sunday with the garden, Thomas Merton and NY Times
My son and I went to see "V for Vendetta" last night and we both left the theater feeling like we'd been on an andrenaline rush for 2 hours. I can't say yet if I "liked" the movie, although it kept me riveted and kept me thinking, two qualities that I believe make for good movie-going fodder.
Trouble is, I'm not sure what it was about. There were so many images, so many themes -- fear being the central one of them, I think.
It's one of those films that rattles you - -there is nothing subtle about it.
My son, on the other hand, loved it. Which I think is more the point. The entire "matrix mentality" resonates more with his age, I think. There is some kind of coded language that he and fellow 18 year olds share that I find like a secret language. He's still talking about it today and although he doesn't really share what he thinks the point of the film is, clearly it is something that means something to him.
Which may be the whole problem between the generations. Maybe my generation searches too hard for meaning, where my son is able to see, read, hear it and say, "OK, that's cool. It means nothing to me, but I really liked the lighting and music. He doesn't press it for some spiritual comment.
I asked him on the way home, "Do you think the "V" character is Osama Bin Laden"?
"What?" he says incredeously, almost stopping the car to pin me to my seat with his glare. "What ever gave you that idea?"
"Maybe it was the bombing of Parliament and the idea that this guys "V" was going after the government, kind of like Osama Bin Laden?" I offer this more as a question, suddenly not sure at all what I'm thinking.
"Patrick Henry was a patriot, y'know. We read about him in our history books. Maybe "V" is a Patrick Henry guy."
"Is there a difference?" I say this as a challenge.
To which he responds in the typical teenage fashion, "Whatever, mom", which effectively ends the discussion.
I've learned that no argument is too far gone that a trip through Taco Bueno won't cure, so we head that way and through greasy tacos and sugary cokes we talk about the music, the lighting, the things that matter to him and am amazed at how he organizes his world around these art forms.
Today, I beg off from church, intent upon my path that I'm working on outside. I'm getting excited about it. I've carefully laid out the watering hose, making a curving line that pleases me. It starts at the back patio and ends at the pergola, effectively connecting these two disparate parts, with a small bridge and ponds between.
Right now, it looks rather primitive, crusty old garden hose looping around in these arcs, but I can see the path, can see where I'm going with it. It is like most journeys, really, which start as an idea and germinates and grows until it springs forth in its form that I can grasp.
Creating a garden path, like so many elements of the garden, require a form of meditation, I think. You have to know where you start. You have to know at least the direction of where you're going, although how you may get there, the curves you take, may not be clearly defined. And the manner in which you go, the elements of rocks or wood or gravel, is something that really presents itself to you. It cannot be forced, it has to emerge in its own time.
And so my son has his movie and I have my garden and with each one we interpret the world around us, the common bridge being spirit that speaks uniquely to both of us, in groanings that we can each hear in our own way.
Trouble is, I'm not sure what it was about. There were so many images, so many themes -- fear being the central one of them, I think.
It's one of those films that rattles you - -there is nothing subtle about it.
My son, on the other hand, loved it. Which I think is more the point. The entire "matrix mentality" resonates more with his age, I think. There is some kind of coded language that he and fellow 18 year olds share that I find like a secret language. He's still talking about it today and although he doesn't really share what he thinks the point of the film is, clearly it is something that means something to him.
Which may be the whole problem between the generations. Maybe my generation searches too hard for meaning, where my son is able to see, read, hear it and say, "OK, that's cool. It means nothing to me, but I really liked the lighting and music. He doesn't press it for some spiritual comment.
I asked him on the way home, "Do you think the "V" character is Osama Bin Laden"?
"What?" he says incredeously, almost stopping the car to pin me to my seat with his glare. "What ever gave you that idea?"
"Maybe it was the bombing of Parliament and the idea that this guys "V" was going after the government, kind of like Osama Bin Laden?" I offer this more as a question, suddenly not sure at all what I'm thinking.
"Patrick Henry was a patriot, y'know. We read about him in our history books. Maybe "V" is a Patrick Henry guy."
"Is there a difference?" I say this as a challenge.
To which he responds in the typical teenage fashion, "Whatever, mom", which effectively ends the discussion.
I've learned that no argument is too far gone that a trip through Taco Bueno won't cure, so we head that way and through greasy tacos and sugary cokes we talk about the music, the lighting, the things that matter to him and am amazed at how he organizes his world around these art forms.
Today, I beg off from church, intent upon my path that I'm working on outside. I'm getting excited about it. I've carefully laid out the watering hose, making a curving line that pleases me. It starts at the back patio and ends at the pergola, effectively connecting these two disparate parts, with a small bridge and ponds between.
Right now, it looks rather primitive, crusty old garden hose looping around in these arcs, but I can see the path, can see where I'm going with it. It is like most journeys, really, which start as an idea and germinates and grows until it springs forth in its form that I can grasp.
Creating a garden path, like so many elements of the garden, require a form of meditation, I think. You have to know where you start. You have to know at least the direction of where you're going, although how you may get there, the curves you take, may not be clearly defined. And the manner in which you go, the elements of rocks or wood or gravel, is something that really presents itself to you. It cannot be forced, it has to emerge in its own time.
And so my son has his movie and I have my garden and with each one we interpret the world around us, the common bridge being spirit that speaks uniquely to both of us, in groanings that we can each hear in our own way.
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