by Martha Newman

I feel the need to work in my garden.
I know when it’s time to spend an afternoon digging, snipping spent blooms, pulling weeds and rearranging plants. It is when I’m engaged in other things and my mind gravitates to thoughts of my garden. Well, it can’t be classified as a real garden. Actually it is a flower bed. Nevertheless, I have experienced many happy moments there, and some exciting observations.
For example, after turning the soil for the tenth time, and thinking it was futile to plant so many bulbs in the Texas clay, I heard a large flock of geese overhead. The leader was honking sounds of encouragement to his followers. I looked up and saw them swooping down to splash into the center of the lake. Encouraged by the leader’s sound and the flock’s achievement, I worked even harder.
Or the time two hummingbirds flirted with me as they tasted each Petunia and Marigold. I believe they knew I was awed by their beauty.
I remember when the monarchs found my garden. They stayed for several hours — and a more exciting close-up of nature I’ve never seen.
We automatically approve of gardening — even those of us without a garden— like volunteer work or meditation. And our approval is well-founded. Gardening is very, very good for you; that is, for your psychological well-being. I find that I often hurry over one activity in order to rush onto the next. Hurrying is hard to avoid in our daily lives because we set up so many goals to stay in control.
Gardening cannot be done in a hurry. The gap between planting and its results is comfortingly long; controlled by factors which are largely beyond our influence. The seasons have their rhythm and all we can do is slip into it. So, gardening helps me to live in the present. It’s a “now” activity for me in the future lies beyond my reach and efforts.
Preparing the soil, pruning shrubs, keeping plants healthy, are rarely urgent tasks, and bring rewards in their own good time. It’s the one simple task that I can do at my own speed, and I escape feeling guilty by enjoying the result.
I believe a garden can be intrinsically motivating. It is for me. I have always liked myself better when I am creative. Unfortunately, creativity in some people’s lives is limited to choosing a flavor of ice cream or the color of lipstick. Many think that creativity has to include some high form of talent and practice. In the garden it is different. no qualifications are necessary.
Many gardening jobs are humdrum. Playing with mud doesn’t seem so special, but it takes me back to my little-girl days when I played with mud to my heart’s content. Now I can do just that in the guise of “preparing my garden”. In fact, the gardener can live out any number of childhood fantasies under the cover of suburban calm and sobriety.
I remember my grandmother’s garden. I used to be amazed by her dinner table, laden with home-grown vegetables and fruit. As I followed her along the blackberry row, she would tell me about her family's garden. Her childhood seems so long ago to me.
The world of the pre-1914 garden is not much different from the garden today. My grandmother grew roses, spring bulbs, azaleas and runner beans, just as I do. These link me to previous generations and give me a sense of playing some small role in a grand scheme of things.
My garden seems to return to me some of the tranquility that characterized earlier generations, and which I seem to go to such strange lengths to find. An avid gardener told me she was attracted to her garden when she felt threatened, or ran into trouble in her life.
“A garden lets me bury myself in something that doesn’t seem to be subject to human frailty.
Another friend tells me of the pleasure she experiences just taking a few moments to walk through the garden at the end of her hectic school day.
I feel the need to find some time soon to let my small garden take away some of life’s strain.
Comments