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The root of the problem
I think I’m on stone number 729 or something like that. By now I’ve learned how to select the stone for the spot and how to set it so it will be stable enough to walk on.
Slopes create a challenge, even if they’re slight. But what really creates an obstacle is root systems.
So when I encountered a huge root on a fairly short and steep slope, I realized both challenges concurrently would require special effort.
If a root is smaller than your average cucumber, I’ll cut it and remove it. If it’s larger than that, I work around it because I don’t want to risk serious injury to the life of the tree.
So far I’ve cut through hundreds of roots. And so far there have been only three that I had to work around. They were huge – perhaps the size of my arm. The latest one took a while to manage because of its location in a stepped area.
I ended up with three wide boulders. The middle one has a huge root underneath on the left side. I went back out rock hunting to find a stone that was this size with a thin left side.
When I begin to dig, I don’t know what I’ll find. Most of the time I can make things work easily. Topsoil. Clay. Roots. I get to play with patterns and imagine several different options. But sometimes there’s a whopper root just waiting beneath the surface. And then there’s nothing to be done but cooperate.
I’m resisting the urge here to write a clever garden metaphor for life. It would go something like this:
Gardener digs a hole, as Human explores self within.
Gardener encounters an immovable obstacle, as Human remembers pain of trauma and loss.
Gardener examines obstacle, studies form, and evaluates options, as Human unpacks injury and works to bring healing where it was previously absent.
Gardener works in spite of and along with obstacle to accomplish desired result, as Human works in spite of and along with pain to move toward redemption.
Something like that.
Change is slow, or is it?
I started this project just weeks ago with an almost new pair of leather gloves. Heavy duty ones. 100% pigskin.
This morning I noticed a hole in the left index finger. I can’t believe how quickly I’ve worn a hole in these gloves.
I’m not ready to ditch them yet, of course. They still have plenty of life left in them. They’ll help me lift and haul lots more rocks. But maybe they won’t last as long as I expected.
I read a prediction (or maybe it was a headline or a tweet, not sure) that because of COVID19, by 2070 our planet would still be habitable, people would have a renewed connection to nature, and the climate in general would be on its way back. This is a stark turn of course from the climate predictions pre-pandemic that in fifty years our planet would not be well.
Maybe nature is showing us how quickly she can respond when we make big changes. Suddenly, because we don’t want to die, we are staying home. Because of this we already have clear skies over China and Los Angeles, dolphins returning to the Venice canals, and me digging in the earth, opening myself to her again.
Thanks for reading. I‘m off to grab my gloves and dig for a while.
A prayer for pandemic times
May science be swift.
May preparation be valued.
May the people be calm.
May healthcare be shared freely.
May biology enjoy respect.
May the people connect and reconnect with the natural world.
May healing come.
May dying be holy.
May comfort come.
May community be real.
May love prevail.
Amen.
I’m making decisions every day.
At the entrance to the garden, right where I’m setting stones, there’s a rich and lovely loropetalum. It was a new species to me, so I did some research.
I learned that it’s in the witch hazel family, that it can grow to 15 feet, and that it is ideal in woodland gardens. Ours had several little offspring, including a few in the pathway where I’m digging and setting stones. What do I do with them?
I had to make decisions.
Decisions are important in life, and we make lots of them all day every day. What to eat. What to say. How to approach a problem. How to express joy and gratitude.
During this pandemic, the decisions I’m making on a daily basis have changed. As a creative entrepreneur, my daily decisions were around production methods and studio equipment and staffing and design choices and authentic marketing. I do have an online e-commerce business and the ability to work with custom clients remotely, so some of that is still active in my days. But since my wholesale business is “on hold” indefinitely, a major portion of that is gone from my daily experience, at least for now.
Yet I’m still engaged in the process of making decisions. And today it was time to decide where to transplant the loropetalum. For me, decision-making is more of a collaboration. It begins with discernment and a time of sitting with the issue at hand, being open to where Spirit may lead.
I’ve been doing this for a while with that loropetalum, knowing the day was coming when I’d reach that spot on the path and they’d have to go then. One went to the front of the studio, one to the north side of the studio, and one south of the fence line toward parking spot #3. I hope they like their new homes.
There’s still one more baby loropetalum left to transplant, but it’s not in the pathway. So, we can make that decision later.
Stones and rocks and boulders
I lost count of how many loads of rocks I gathered today.
For some reason I was drawn to really large stones. This was particularly surprising considering that I was lifting them by myself.
I started the day calling them rocks.
By the end of the day they were all boulders.
Order of operations
I spent a lot of time in the dirt in my 20s.
When we lived in a townhome, I had an extensive container garden. Having grown up in rural Warren County, gardening as a city dweller might was a new challenge.
Then, in our first house, I planted everything everywhere I could. I dug by hand, laid pavers, planted herbs and tubers and perennials and annuals and vegetables and shrubs. (I don’t think I ever planted a tree.) I followed whatever attracted my attention and worked intuitively learning as I went along. Bliss.
When we moved to our current home, I was mothering four little girls and working to build my creative practice into a business. I gave up my time in the dirt. But it was this season in my 30s when I learned to work smarter and think about how to do things most efficiently. Things in general. Batching processes, combining like tasks, planning the week, and so on. I was responsible for a lot, so it was necessary. I didn’t have the luxury of impulse or aimless wandering like I did when I was younger. Or, at least, that’s what I thought.
So as I’m entering my 50s later this year, I would hope that I can (by now) integrate these different ways of working. I really want to start working on the fence. But I know that I need to stone The Pocket first because I can’t really predict the footprint of the stone surface and retaining wall there until it’s happening. And the fence line needs to follow that footprint. And…
Since I can’t stone The Pocket until I know how much red clay I’m working with from the pathways, I need to finish those first. And I need more rocks. Lots more rocks.
Maybe I can build a prototype fence post for the corner between the two little staircases on the studio porch? Just to see if my cedar-stack idea will work?
Maybe. But not until after you go get some more rocks.
First things first.
One more day of digging? Sounds good
I decided to ride up to Cedar Cross with Jimmy this morning, unplanned.
After yesterday’s dig, I was hopeful that one more day of the same could get the meditation space ready to receive the red clay that I would be excavating from the paths. After all, that was the impetus, or one of them, for the digging. I was having dirt management problems over on the pathway.
I was right. Four loads yesterday, and four loads today. I ended the day with library rods in place to mark the lower retaining wall that will be needed, and perhaps a small elevated section that could be used as a low lotus resting place, or a footrest perhaps. (Probably not the footrest thing.)
We have a retreatant this week who’s often ready to talk. She lingers and shares. She has a broad smile, and she loves Reba. I’ll call her J, and I learned that her retreat experience opened her, and that she has much new life in store.
Interacting with others at a distance of six feet or more is an interesting experience. I notice that I’m seeing the entire person, reading body language and overall energy more than facial expressions or vocal inflection. I’m uncertain whether this creates a deeper understanding or not.
J called the meditation space a “pocket.” Ding! That’s it. Now this meditation space has a name, at least for me. The Pocket. Meditation is like being in God’s pocket, safe and along for the ride.
Rocks make a great gift
Margaret appeared uphill calling “Rocks for sale!”
“I’m buying” was my response.
Turns out she wasn’t selling rocks. She found lots of good ones as she was hunting just one for her garden. So she brought some for me.
She had trucked all the way to the northwest corner where she said there are completely untapped piles of rocks. I made a note to scout that spot next.
Here are some notes from the SG Sketchbook:
I moved four loads of topsoil from the meditation space to the new center bed, shoveled by hand. …. IDEA: Get a pull wagon! For rocking. With real tires.
Cedar stacks could be fence posts, perhaps
I’m already thinking about the fence.
Yes, I have a ton (pun intended) of stone work ahead, and still more digging and planting, and weeding. So, I’m not sure yet exactly when is the best time to move to the fence. But I’m thinking about the design.
There are a few sketches floating around in my head and on various pieces of paper. I’m leaning toward something kind of unconventional that will help to define the space, and also provide visual interest (thinking of the Sunny Garden as an extension of the studio).
It involves a vertical metal garden stake traveling through a hole drilled in the center of a lentil rock at ground level. Above the rock, sections of cedar with a hole drilled will be threaded onto the stake. Most of the cedar sections in the stack are short, but some are long enough to reach the next stack. Hence, fence.
What about the arbor? John was a great help in the garden today with his trusty loppers and the mower. And we realized that the mower doesn’t fit in the current footprint of the arbor. So, we’ll widen it just a few inches. Can the stacks extend eight feet high? Is there a metal stake of some sort that is, say, ten feet long? I need to consult Mr. Green Jeans.
Today was a busy day in the garden, and a hard day. I came home with an itchy rash after I spent most of the day on my hands and knees weeding and pulling roots, all while I was thinking about the fence, and about fences in general. We’re all functioning as if we are individually fenced. They call it “social distancing.”
This morning during morning prayers (it’s Monday) we talked about the pandemic. From now on, the paradigms of our lives will be pre-pandemic, pandemic, and post-pandemic. We will be forever changed, and we’re hoping for the better. As expressed by John, and I agree, there were many aspects of our society that were broken and are better left behind. I still find myself preoccupied wondering how bad it’s going to get, and for how long.
It’s like waiting for death.
And yet, I planted the tiniest of seeds a few days ago. And they’ve germinated already.
New life.
Jimmy Allen
Ginger Allen