I had a rather nasty accident at work last week. I’ll spare you the details, save to say that it was with a log splitter and could have been so much worse. My little finger, the pinkie if you will, is sore and scraped but thankfully still attached.
It wasn’t a catastrophe but it could have been; the whole thing served as a warning against complacency. I stopped paying attention for a moment and I nearly paid the price. Complacency can have serious effects- just ask the owner of my local saw mill, a man who can count to nine and a half on his fingers- or even cause fatalities.
Laugh if you will but this small accident, coupled with the tumultuous year, has made me rather introspective. I find myself wondering what I want from life, asking whether I’m actually happy. The garden is a wise place. Indeed plants are wise beyond understanding; theirs is a brutal world, with countless reasons why they should fail and only one why they should succeed: survival.
Trees survive and are often impressive
I’m fascinated by a question: we know from our own experience that certain plants can become conquerors, some come to dominate ecosystems, but why after millennia of existence and evolution are we not left with a handful of dominant species?
The answer is both very easy and very complex; for all its savagery and heartlessness the struggle of natural things isn’t a fight for dominance but a fight for survival. A tree might well grow tall and dominate the ground below it, curtailing the growth of plants below, but it doesn’t do that out of malice but because it’s a tree. Species seldom naturally dominate to the exclusion of all others, and others exploit niches admirably.
Many plants exploit unlikely niches
We often look at them through very human eyes. Indeed we have no choice for we are people and must do so. We find comfort and meaning seeing plants as we see other people: good and bad, happy and sad, weak and strong. In truth plants are just plants doing what plants do.
I wonder if there’s a philosophy hidden in our borders, a message hidden in plain sight? We flock to see mighty trees that impress and also intimidate us, yet it’s the ethereal herbaceous plants we prefer near our homes. Shrubs stand stoically through the year and face the seasons, yet most of them do their thing then just stand idly there like a minor part in a theatre production. There are plants that are boisterous and there are those that are shy and retiring, whose charm we must gently coax out with patience.
Unlikely friends together
The whole of humanity, its triumphs and foibles, is echoing in the world around us. Plants brought together through unlikely associations but growing well together, plants dominating while others thrive against the odds. We can choose to see the interactions between plants as a battle royale, or just see things as everyone finding their own little niche. It’s probably not an infallible way to view the world, likening people to trees, shrubs, herbaceous plants and bulbs, but I’m drawn to the idea if only for my own amusement.
In a world of thorny weeds I’m proud to share my world with some beautiful flowers.
You DO get me thinking, Ben! I like gardenbloggers who do that.
Thank you very much for your kind words.
Sorry to hear about your accident – glad it wasn’t worse. Hope you’re feeling better soon!
Thank you; hopefully my finger will heal soon.
Definitely not laughing. A (safe) close call is what we all need sometimes. Take care, and thank you for your writing.
It was a wake up call for me. Thank you for reading my work.
Ben, a very thoughtful rant that gets me thinking about the “native vs. exotic” debate. Plants don’t label themselves – people do. If plants could talk, they’d surely have much to say about us. And maybe they do. I’m thankful that your pinkie survived its close shave with the log splitter. Safety first, and don’t forget to wear those chainsaw chaps! Wishing you the best in the new year.
Thank you very much.
I love the science around naming plants and will happily debate other enthusiasts about such things, but it’s always worth coming back to the idea that we categorise plants and animals; it’s a completely human thing to do.
Introspective indeed! I always like what you have to say, Ben. You’ve put an interesting spin on this subject and I find I quite like it.
And I’m certainly glad you still have all ten digits! Let your pinkie have sufficient healing time.
Thank you very much. It’s grazed but will heal soon I hope.
I’m enjoying the image of the boisterous and the retiring plants coexisting peacefully in their snug niches.
Looking at plants from a personality perspective really opens up the garden.
So sorry about your accident and glad that it wasn’t worse. I remember a trainer in a different field challenging us about doing familiar things on auto-pilot which I admit I assumed was useful. It was a good lesson learned for me.
It just takes a momentary lapse, as I discovered!
Ive just been re-reading Kimmerer’s “Braiding Sweetgrass”. One of her main points, is that reciprocal relationships, not dominance, is an essential & maybe THE key to any successful ecological system. That principle includes all systems, regardless of whether humans are involved or not, respect that reality or not. Inattention to or willful violation of that principle is a recipe increases the chances for disaster, be it splitting wood or growing a healthy garden/landscape or working toward a prosperous society.
It’s a good time to be seeing living things, including people, as part of a large and multifaceted ‘bigger picture’.
Wonderful Rant, good points, and what is that fern or fernlike plant in the “niches” picture? Thanks, Jim
It’s Asplenium ceterach, a rare fern in my area.
We sometimes forget how dangerous a garden can sometimes be. Glad you escaped relatively unscathed. I tripped over some loose wire and landed on a tine-up rake. It wasn’t pretty but it did motivate me to get rid of all the tripping hazards that I had been ignoring.
Absolutely; accident statistics for gardens in the UK can make discomforting reading. The US will be the same.
A close call sometimes turns a light on.Thanks for your wisdom, Ben. Glad you’re on the mend,
Thanks Allen.
So sorry to hear about that accident, Ben. And hoping it’s a warning to a rather blasé Charles.
Better to learn from my near miss than have his own.