Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” asked the poet, Mary Oliver in her 1990 poem “The Summer Day”
“Catastrophizing.” Says the Modern, looking up from desk or device, oblivious to the tangible, observable, intoxicating natural world that Oliver inhabited for 83 years as a student. How could it be possible to consume just as voraciously as she did, and remain ever-hungry? Yet we do. And we are.
Each year, the fascinating, in-between month of March offers us hundreds of opportunities to stake claim to that precious life by first recognizing its worth – and this is only possible if we intentionally choose to be curious each time we are faced with both miracle, and misfortune.
Gardeners Have a Front Row Seat
While gardeners are positioned more advantageously than others to recognize and rejoice in the subtle signs of change that remind us of the cyclical nature of all things; we are not immune to the technological forces in other parts of our lives (social media, weather apps, 24-hour news, hyper-novel systems) that keep us in a heightened state of anxiety and imperceptibly separate us from each other and from the natural world. All for the purposes of commodifying our attention.
Dogs know how to immerse in the natural world.
We are also not immune to those forces making a profound impact on our capacity to be curious by cleverly providing a false sense of same.
We can believe ourselves to be curious even as we absorb and are satiated by performatively asked questions in echo chambers of algorithm. That isn’t the curiosity we must cultivate to move into a changing climate with positivity and resilience.
Without curiosity we cannot contemplate adaptation. We cannot view our challenges creatively. Or see beyond the boundaries of what we already know. Not only is this not healthy, it’s not a happy way to live, and it certainly does not support the discovery of that one wild and precious life Mary Oliver entreats us to find before it is over.
One Flower, Two Journeys
This month for instance, the gardener may see a late-season daffodil like ‘Thalia’ emerge and bloom earlier than normal. This is worth noting. How to react?
Happy times with Thalia. But each year is different.
The non-curious gardener, however unintentionally, might smother the instinctive joy felt in that emergence, by focusing instead on the much larger and less resolvable issue of climate change.
Perhaps he snaps a picture and posts it online with a concerned caption “Beautiful, but…” Commenters seeking communion or approval are quick to reiterate the angst, and may invoke anger and divisiveness by adding a political slant, or questioning the moral implications of planting a non-native daffodil in the first place.
There is no learning here. It is merely a space to reinforce one’s opinions, cultivate anxiety and bring everyone along for the ride.
Meanwhile, the curious gardener next door recognizes the new timing even as he recognizes the miracle and beauty of a daffodil breaking through the frozen earth, unfurling its flower, and offering itself to the elements. Perhaps it has altered a historically sound pairing in his garden which will mean a new bedfellow. Inconvenient, but not insurmountable. What else is blooming in tandem? Has it happened before?
Other factors will have contributed to this emergence. Can he mitigate for them in future springs? He must ask himself questions, answer honestly, and take notes. Memory is notoriously unreliable.
Is the daffodil newly planted?
How long has he gardened here?
Is this a wetter or a drier space? In winter? In summer?
How does the sun lie on this stretch of soil?
How is the same daffodil progressing in another area of the yard?
He may also see an insect responding in some way to this early flower he previously thought of little ecological value. Is the interaction significant or trivial? Finding the answer to that question may prompt him to look around at other similar species over the next few years.
To be curious in what one is seeing, and evaluate it in the pursuit of greater understanding, is the most logical step if the aim is to move forward, not backward. It is not merely the observation of the emerging plant, but the why of it. Why is it emerging in this spot, not that one? Why is it stronger here, not there? Curiosity precedes action and experimentation, not inaction and immobilization.
Choosing to move forward
This March, it may be very warm, but it may also be very cold. Temperatures may fluctuate drastically. Again, that is inconvenient, but it is not insurmountable. What is consistently struggling in that new environment and what appears to take it on the chin?
March may bring ice. Where is it melting first in your garden? Is that a place where early ephemerals like Erythronium and Sanguinaria might find an easier foothold?
March may bring heavy snow. Which early flowers spring back after a smothering blanket? Which bend and don’t get up again?
March may bring heavy rains. Where is your drainage plan weak? Where is it effective?
Choosing light
Activating curiosity in ourselves switches on the light in a darkened maze. Certainly we can choose to sit uncomfortably in darkness, or decide that there is no way out; but reaching for that switch signals our intention to explore and to solve – even if we’re not quite sure which way to go.
“I do know how to pay attention…” says Oliver. “…Tell me, what else should I have done?”
March is full of miracles. I’m looking forward to finding them. – MW
Such a warm and uplifting post, Marianne, and I thank you for it. Yes to all those wonderings and reframing what can sometimes feel like garden catastrophes. Yes to all the opportunities for learning every year. My learnings continue to be about which plants groundhogs leave alone which they don’t. And appreciating that garden phlox in the fenced in garden, which the babies can get through and eat in spring, can look quite stunning later in the season at 2 ft tall. Onward!
Your comment about groundhogs resonated with me, but my learning about their taste preferences has to be newly established every year. Our local population, which changes most years with the daughters taking over from the previous matriarch, has varying culinary peferences. One generation devours the African blue basil, the next has no interest in it. Plants that I never expected to be browsed upon because they never have been are tasty delights some years. It’s always a challenge and a learning experience. Now, I have an armadillo newly arrived in our Blue Ridge mountains to add to the garden disruptors. Intrepid gardeners must be curious, and determined!
Ahhh Marianne, your tender yet spot on (rant) is what everyone and I mean everyone wants in their hearts. Slow down…. Pay attention for way more than a minute. Most people go ga ga over amazing sunsets. We should be able to bring wonder and joy beneath our feet…THANK YOU
Thank you, Suzanne for this heartfelt reply. We could all “work a lot harder” at making those Sunset Moments a 24- to 18-hour a day habit.
Being retired sure helps. So does reading Margaret Renkl – every day.
Thanks for an almost poetic rumination, Marianne. Could be titled “I Wonder”.
Thank you for the reminder to be present and rejoice.
This rant is appropriate for all the seasons, not just the emergent one (northern hemisphere). I love to see “early” buds. Sometimes I cover them back up – if it’s early Feb and I know ice and snow will be around another 6 weeks. But in early March a bud of a snowdrop is a miracle worth cooing over, even if 30 years ago I wouldn’t see them till late March. It’s true that taking the time to wonder does add so much to one’s life. Thanks for putting it in such an eloquent rant. Keep wondering.
Oh, Marianne, you do have a way with words!! Write on!
Thank You us geriatric yardeners have seen a lot over the Decades I remember when global cooling was the trend before multi media posts and memes … and had friends building greenhouses for survival in zone 4 ! Enjoy and adjust and breathe in spring whenever it comes to ones micro climate every season 🙂
Good reminder of how to live. Plant Galanthus for very early bloom. Every year blooms by Feb 14 zone 5. Blooms through ice, snow, rain, hail, and sub freezing temps. Bees love the early nectar and go crazy on warmer days. It is very slightly fragrant. I have to kneel down or use in a vase. Blooms before early crocus and continues into late March
What a beautiful essay!
Just lovely. Thank you.
Thank you for sharing Mary Oliver’s poem, and for your thought provoking essay. I finally got out into the woods today. The maples are sporting their red buds that say spring. The hellebores managed to retain their white tattered blooms under many snowfalls. Although droopy, they are steadfast. The air smells incredibly fragrant amidst the melting and decay. The mosses, lichen and fungi are the star performers now. There’s actually a moth dancing outside the window as I write this. It is a marvelous world if we micro-manage it.
I really enjoyed this article. I agree that gardening teaches us to slow down and be curious about nature instead of worrying about everything. Every season is different, and observing plants carefully helps us learn and appreciate the beauty of the natural world. Thank you for sharing this inspiring perspective!