Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature-- the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter. --Rachel Carson, Silent Spring
Well then. Through circumstance and decree, we've been given ample time and abundant opportunity to take six giant steps away from Twenty-Twenty society, to distance ourselves and to contemplate so many things, including, but not limited to: the sudden scarcity of toilet paper, the perpetual wonder of scrubbing with soap-and-water, the perks and perils of social media... the repeated refrains of nature, the beauty of the earth. Contradictions abound. In a strange new world of ransacked-to-empty shelves, abundant spring is springing all around us. In a time of stay-away living, we have the opportunity to welcome the season to our own backyards, to get up-close in the garden, to commune with local nature. Even as clouds of concern and confusion gather, even as an invisible viral storm sweeps across our community and rests upon our doorstep, we bear witness to optimistically budding forsythia, weigela, dogwood, quince, lilac. As the financial markets spiral downward, vinca and morning glory vines begin their annual climb-to-the-heavens. And as life-as-we've-come-to-expect-it devolves and dissolves before our eyes, intrepid tulips, nodding daffodils, and cheerful crocuses emerge through mulch in freshly tidied beds, announcing, We're here. Begin again.
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| Begin again: A Nodding Daffodil. |
I've long suspected and recently affirmed, through reading and bereavement experience, the healthful, healing, hope-filled benefits of passing quality time outdoors. A mere fifteen minutes a day usually does the trick: a meandering walk in the woods, a meditative respite on a garden or park bench, a spin around the backyard-- they all confer tremendous therapeutic advantage, centering us emotionally, restoring creative thought, perking us up physically. A morale boost from Mother Nature, so to speak.
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| Begin again: A Hopeful Crocus. |
It's interesting to note that on almost-daily ambulations along local trails, social distancing actually connects us to other socially-distanced human beings: irritatingly, on occasion, when a suspiciously vacuous, irrefutably raucous, absolutely incessant conversation echoes through the forest... out-chattering the birds, out-babbling a brook, out-blustering the breeze. But more often than not, it's a Congenial Good Morning at twenty paces, a Rueful Smile at thirty paces, a We're-In-This-Together Wave at forty paces.
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| Fresh Air and Sunshine: Optimistic Forysthia. |
Our family tree is filled with farmers, with gardeners, with long-ago and recently lost loved ones who found their livelihood or derived life benefit from digging and delving in the dirt. I have fond early memories of working a patch of ground on Grandpa and Grandma L's Central Pennsylvania farm: picking peas and lima beans, later sitting on the Knepper Drive back porch with Dad and Sisters shelling those peas and beans, a sensory feast: the crisp-to-the-touch snap, the earthy smell, the sound of vegetable harvest plunking into large metal pots. Indeed, I hold fast to garden memories and associated remembrances of lives well-lived, of people well-loved. Today, I'm hearing an infinitely healing and repeated refrain, connecting past to present to tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow....
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| Clematis: Climbing a Trellis in Mom and Dad M's Garden... Twining on Our Lamp Post. |
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| Yellow Primrose: Rambling Poolside at Mom and Dad L's House... Running a Bit Wild in Our Garden. |
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| Bleeding Heart: Clustered in a Bed at Grandpa and Grandma W's House... Lining a Pathway in Our Garden. |
Young Ben took his time in the garden seriously. Declaring himself a John Deere Worker Guy, he watered, he raked, he harvested little green apples, succulent pears, and blackberries-by-the-fistful with Grandpa Massam, and he toured the Knepper Drive acre on a beloved lawn tractor with Grandpa Lebo. He recorded the progress of flora and the presence of fauna in the nooks and crannies of our idyllic little yard. Sometimes, I'd look out the kitchen window and see him paused from his diligent work of play, standing still, smiling up at the blue sky, gazing at a garden flower, watching a rabbit nibbling clover. Ben in the garden: uncomplicated, incalculable, irreplaceable goodness....
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| Ben the Gardener: In Grandpa and Grandma L's Backyard. |
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| Two Optimists in the Orchard: Ben and Grandpa M Harvest Apples. |
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| Two Worker Guys in the Backyard: Ben and Grandpa L Ride the John Deere. |
Life of late has become, with a socially distanced nod of acknowledgment to Alice in Wonderland... curiouser and curiouser, increasingly Tweedledummed and Tweedledeed, and riddled with rabbit holes. The photo below, Mom's Alice books arrayed with a lovely lantana on our patio, conveys a fine and timely sentiment, first voiced by ancient Roman statesman Cicero: If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need....
In the gardens of memory, in the palace of dreams, that is where you and I shall meet.
--The Mad Hatter, Alice in Wonderland
The Mad Hatter's Tea Party is summarily scrapped, no doubt. As we adjust to this new brand of March Madness-- tournaments cancelled, events postponed indefinitely, calendars shredded, school lessons launched into cyberspace, life-as-we've-come-to-expect-it on open-ended hold-- there are moments when it seems that we're in jeopardy of becoming, collectively and colloquially, Mad-as-the-Hatter and twice-as-distanced as we're meant to be. No hand shaking, no high-fiving, no hugging... a bit of elbow bumping, perhaps, and a fair amount of questionably productive political finger-pointing. How can we bide this time? How can we bridge the space between us? How can we live, thrive even, in an extraordinary moment, in this springtime like no other? Let's meet, for now, in the gardens of memory and, if not in the palace of dreams, then someplace humbler, quainter, more local. Let's meet and find our way forward along a pathway of dreams: a sun-dappled trace, lined with close-to-the-heart blooms, laced with laughter and good humor, laden with healing words, patience, resiliency, reason for hope... all promises kept, all challenges met.
To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow. -- Audrey Hepburn
