Thursday morning and my deadline looms. How many times can you type a sentence only to erase it? I’ve been working on a world record this week.
What can be said about the garden that doesn’t immediately reek of triviality in a world facing a real threat of war? What is an arrogant rant or a surprised-by-snowdrops cliché in the face of such chaos? Three cloying paragraphs were written this morning before coffee, discarded shortly thereafter. I feel helpless, angry, protective, sickened, and simultaneously apologetic for my inability to access and share a spirit of lightheartedness.
Though the stakes are suddenly higher, this anxious, helpless feeling is sadly – tragically – not new to any of us. Two decades of 24-hour news cycles revealing fresh headlines on the half hour, and the proliferation – nay, increasing requirement – of smart phones to conduct daily life have seen to that. No matter how pure our motives, we are immersed. We are users. And we are so concurrently addled with binge-worthy entertainment on demand that the lines have begun to blur dangerously.
We accepted this path, strewn with inducements and goodies and dopamine. We fairly tripped over ourselves running at full speed. Refresh page. Refresh page. Refresh page.
And it would be one thing, if there was an end to it. But there isn’t. There won’t be. This ‘it’ will be replaced by another ‘it,’ as it has replaced the one before it. Existential threats, all – of course. Anything else is trivial. An endless string of ‘its,’ tearing us apart psychologically and then letting us loose on one other. Fingers poised, eyes bleary, human brain overcome. Go on. Refresh the bloody page.
But then there is this remarkable, resilient Earth. Separated from the invisible network that encircles it. I open my curtains this morning and gaze out on a bright sunny day, snowdrops and eranthis opening at the top of the drive, witchhazels blazing, hellebores emerging, ducks waddling by under my window, concerned by nothing more than the next worm sheltering under a succulent mass of new chickweed. Life is returning as we approach spring once again and miracles seem ten a penny.
There will be snowdrops in Kiev. In London. In Berlin. The World is a tumultuous place, and yet the Earth is a generous and reliable friend. How the hell to reconcile these conflicting spheres, one upon the other?
Though I have wrestled with myself this morning – all week in fact – my heart tells me that gardeners are not dealing in trivialities. The message of an awakening Earth is resonant, and those that are fortunate enough to tend it are uniquely positioned to recognize that message in an excruciatingly connected World.
It pulls us back to certainties – and not certainties of frost dates or cold winters or average daily temperatures which are far from certain. It’s proof of life itself. Rebirth. Restoration. Adaptation. Resolve. It will not solve our conflicts, but it allows the mind to take a step back in processing them.
Gratitude for what joy befalls us. Hope for joy to come. Courage in the face of struggle.
A chance to thoroughly unplug yet remain connected. To reclaim some tiny measure of buffer that we foolishly gave up in the pursuit of immediacy. No this is not a trivial message. It’s the message of the poppies on the Somme. It’s the message of sunflowers with faces tracking the sun. It’s a true refreshing of the page. Thank God for such trivialities. Let’s share them with one another and feel our hearts grow lighter in the process. – MW
Right there with you, Marianne. For me, gardening is a meditation for peace.
You raise good points! Gardening can serve as the ultimate reality check. There aren’t any politics in the garden. One plant doesn’t bloom to ensnare and “take down” the other. They all adapt, persist in finding means of survival, and go on to seek conditions that then allow them to thrive. No rumor mongering, party affiliation, etc. The simple goal: LIFE!
Of course – the grief and anxiety are currently paralysing, and ought to be. So this is a timely piece.
And then? What follows that recognition? I felt considerable relief this morning when I read something which had nothing to do with the war and realised I need that too. Distraction sounds trivial but I suspect we all need it in hard times.
So for me, it’s not simply the message that spring brings, but the ability of the garden, the plant world and the people who share those things to provide other thoughts, other cares. It’s not indifference or callousness. I think it’s necessary?
It’s not incongruous, (to me), to tend the garden and be distressed by world events. One is a bit of an antidote for the other. The rare intersection between the two is the potential for a certain world leader to be composted in a Caesar Moment.
The on-line nursery “Plant Addicts” gives us a way to provide humanitarian aid. They are donating all proceeds from the purchase of sunflowers, the national flower of Ukraine, to humanitarian aid. Planting the flowers are one way to remind us of some very brave folks and show support.
To be fair, I suppose, nurseries could also offer donations representing Voldemort by buying Kudzu. Those so inclined could then enjoy a thug taking over their yard.
When the world, or news of the world, gets to be too much, my garden has usually been my salve. That has not changed this last week.
Very well said. Thank you for reminding me to enjoy my garden and use it to escape from the craziness.
As always, your depth of thought and clarity of expression is a breath of fresh air. Thank you, Marianne!
A heartfelt and touching piece Marianne and a great “offer” to all your readers to put these dreadful times (thinking of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine of course), into some perspective or rather perhaps to give us reminder of some comfort we might take. If only those in that abused and invaded country could find comfort in natures reliability -well, we can but wish that for them. But perhaps we still might all make a donation of cash to one of the charities working in Ukraine to provide a bit of food on the table or some medication.
How many times at my house have we deliberately u-turned a political discussion to “What’s blooming in your garden?” We need respite from the onslaught of doom and gloom and news. Working in our garden is our refuge, our reminder that there are also good things happening around the world.
Beautifully, thoughtfully written, Marianne. It helps put events in perspective. There will be sunflowers, and poppies.
Amen
My Aunt Mary always told me, in a much more poetic way than I can muster right now, that evidence of our creator can be seen in the face of a flower. We need that right now.
Not at all unrelated is that the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone emerged over the years, in the absence of humans, as a rich and thriving biosphere reserve. In light of that, it seems we are left with two choices. One is to harness our collective humanity, empathy, intelligence and capabilities to foster a livable planet for everything that lives. The other is to to eliminate humans from the picture altogether, through the elective insanity that seems to be all the rage. Either could work but only one, the way I measure it, would lead to any fun at all for me.
Thank you Marianne, gardening has helped us get through the pandemic and it can help us through this heart-wrenching crisis of war…gardening is hope, gardening is faith, gardening is love!
Terrible wars have raged in every decade since I started gardening. This one has gotten our attention more than others (most of us) because of the threat of WWIII, I guess. And because more news can get out now on social media than could from Iraq, Rwanda or Bosnia, for example.All the wars have been heart breaking and since I started gardening decades ago, I’ve often reflected on how fortunate I am to be gardening in peace. I often wish I could house refugees in my garden whether from Ukraine or Rwanda or Syria or…or….so many places. I don’t even have a tiny house to offer, so it’s just a fantasy.
Thanks, may be your best column ever. I take solace in my garden and in the fact that when we humans have finally succeeded in killing all of us, those snowdrops and daffodils will still come up – by themselves. We will have left beauty.
Not only your best column ever, Marianne, but possibly the best column I have ever read by anyone on Garden Rant. Hoping you might post or submit it elsewhere for a wider readership. Bless you. We are grateful.
Diane, you expressed my thoughts exactly! When I read the title of this post, I admit I was expecting some gardening cliches or, well, some trivialities…but this was one of the most unexpectedly beautiful, thought-provoking pieces on this site (and there have been many wonderful articles here!). Thank you Marianne, it was a sincere pleasure to read this. I love your writings.
Diane, Michelle, your thoughts are beyond generous. Thank you. – MW
Thank you so much for persisting thru every erased sentence. Your words are a much needed reminder
Thank you for your words that explain how gardening gets me through. It gets me through the cold the snow the pandemic and now through a cancer diagnosis. Gardening is the light at the end of my tunnel.
I read in A Green and Pleasant Land (by Ursula Buchan) that during the Second World War, POWs and internees in Germany, Italy, and occupied France were sent seeds and instruction by the RHS, so they could improve their morale and their diets by gardening.
In the face of so much that is wrong, gardening can be not only restorative – to the land and the one who works it – but a small act of defiance against all that is ugly and destructive.
Many thanks to all that have commented and shared their own thoughts on this topic. We have a terrific community here. – MW
With tears in my eyes and peas in the ground – I have renewed hope in the earth. Thank you – your writing is spot on.