Bliss. Mixed textures. Heavenly shades of green. What's not to love? But those large green leaves are mini-oaks, taking over a place not prepared for trees. Is it magic - - these pesky acorns becoming vibrant sources of shade & food? Maybe, but they've got to go... ...to make room for this Sweet Woodruff, a dainty & mighty medicinal herb & groundcover. I love this kind of work. The problem is clear & the solution simple. The problem of rain barrel drainage in the veggie garden was equally clear, but the solution more complex than pulling a few 'weeds.' But again, it's such satisfying work. The solution elegant. As happens, though, solving one thing leads to another. Like this wonderful scented shrub whose name escapes me. It was great when first planted, but it's now outgrown that spot, creating a barrier & not an invitation. With the right tools & care, it's not so hard to make a change. There is power in transplanting and re-imagining a plant or a space or even an assumption about how things are meant to be. I feel that way all the time in the garden. There's the vision & then there's reality. And sometimes that reality is like this honeysuckle, planted to fill & beautify the corner of the garden that happens to be adjacent to the compost and happens to, over time, look amazing on both sides of the fence. As I free the blueberries & liberate bounded roots, I am grateful for unexpected flourishings. Amid the seeming chaos & disruption of transplants & fixings, there are places where things work and where beauty exists. Honoring
these places feeds me & gives me strength for the next challenge inviting a solution. And sometimes the solution involves nothing more than patience, as the herb garden reveals between the beginning and the end of June. This is perhaps the 100th shrub I have planted in our yard during the past decade, and this tight tangle of roots gets me every time. Not all plants are so completely ensnared, but most seem to be at least this rootbound. Sometimes aggressive action is necessary because it is absolutely essential to free the roots from themselves. If they remain entangled, the shrub will never be able to settle into its new home. Earlier today, when I held this particular plant and gently worked to free the roots, I thought of how hard it has been to liberate myself from the constraints I created as a result of expectations of all kinds, some from within & some from family. Once I hit 50, though, my confidence with clippers increased significantly in the garden and in my life. Experience showed me that it really is OK to cut free some (but not all) roots in order for a plant, or for me, to grow. A plant will thrive in its new home when its roots are free & it has the water & nutrients it needs. As I write, I am increasingly curious about what roots I may choose to cut so that I can participate fully in conversations about climate, race & our nation's structural inequalities that limit our collective capacity to thrive. Who knows
what beauty will emerge from this call to dig even deeper? It's easy to ignore the blueberry bushes. I can't see them from the house or from the gardens close to the house. A few years ago they were productive, but they've never been abundant, so I end up kind of ignoring them. Until yesterday, when they called for attention. As I am apt to do, I dove in, slashing the grasses with my Japanese Hori Hori gardening knife, madly giving those poor plants some air. On the first bush, I just cut back the grass; On the next one, though, I focused on one section, pulling up grass by the roots. It was harder work, especially since we're having a drought and the soil is compacted and dry. But as I said, I was in one of those "I have take care of this NOW" kind of moods. When I stopped for some water, though, my 'yay me look what I've been doing' moment became 'oh no, there's so much more.' How often do I focus on one part of a thing and feel great about it, until I notice how much more there is to do? That's how I feel right now with all that is happening in our country and around the world. It is easy to ignore things I can not see, whether because they are actually out of sight or because I have such a narrow point of view. There is no quick fix for these struggling shrubs. They need so much more than air and space. But after the superficial grass removal & my one 'deep dive' with that one bush, my hands ached and I needed to rest. But when the rain stopped this afternoon I went to visit those same bushes, this time with my camera. In that cool late afternoon light that cast such appealing shadows, I stopped disparaging these forgotten shrubs and instead paid attention to their actual shape, colors and texture. Buried in those demanding & overpowering grasses, though, these blueberry bushes revealed poise & resilience. But I felt sad & really bad that I had not actually provided them the nutrients & care they needed to thrive and I am sure they were annoyed when I whispered "please be patient. The entire garden is calling. I'll be back." How could they not be annoyed? They know that in recent years I have only paid attention to them when blueberries are in season (when there's something in it for me); They also know that I have been disappointed with their production even though I have obviously been ignoring their needs. As I
created these images & whispered those promises, I could feel their skepticism & anger. "Yes," they're probably thinking, "you do have a lot to manage. But you planted us in the first place. It really is your job to figure out how to not just admire us, but to also do what it takes so that we & all these other plants can thrive in this garden of your design & making. There's work to do at home and all around, so we've been working - digging & mulching, pruning & planting. It feels good to work hard. And even though these phlox are out of control and need attention, I'm OK with their extravagant abundance because five years ago, there was nothing in that particular place but a neglected corner of the terrace. Those lupin blew over from a neighbor's field, but the comfrey by its side and those chives behind were intentionally planted to increase soil fertility on what was once a rocky dry hillside. These woodland phlox, so different from those flowers surrounding the bird, thrive in a space that was once a pile of sticks. These phlox and this myrtle (or Vinca Minor) have finally merged on the hillside by our driveway. 5 years in the making, this space is, at last, feeling whole. I am grateful to my garden for reminding me that neglected places can be transformed. There just needs to be a plan, focused attention, and patience to let what will emerge, emerge. Purples
are beginning to share the stage with other colors, like these white flowers on a lone Hawthorn tree that is abuzz. It was for these pollinators that we created this garden in the first place, so hearing them in action gives me hope and purpose as I go outside to get back to work. |
Lyn Swett Miller
reframing the narrative, one day, one image at a time Let's ReFrame: By Degrees
A place where photographer Lyn Swett Miller considers wonder, joy and transformation in a complex world. Archive
September 2021
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