In the Garden

The joy of gardening and how gardens are good for the soul.

I came late to gardening even though I have had a garden for most of my life.  It has always been like an extra room; a sitting room in summer and a spare guest room for the feathered visitors that come with winter days.  Although I have gained much pleasure from the garden, as with any other room in the house it must be kept tidy and maintained.  So for many years I viewed gardening as a necessary task until about ten years ago when I began to enjoy the weeding and planting, the digging, cutting and pruning.  What changed?  Due to stresses and pressures at work, I began to see the garden as a refuge, an escape, and I found myself enjoying the gardening as much as sitting and relaxing there.  How I ever saw gardening as a chore I now couldn’t understand.  I have always loved being outdoors and going into the garden means stepping out under the sky and into the air but most of all, it is offers a myriad of sensations to experience and enjoy.

 

When I’m just sitting quietly in the garden or doing some work there, the vibrancy and beauty of the red roses, the citrusy freshness of the lemon ones, the hum of the bees gathering the pollen from the foxglove bells, and the delicate scent of the honeysuckle on the warm air reach me and I receive them joyfully.  I watch the insects and the worms going about their lives and see and hear the birds in the branches above my head. I see and feel the textures of the different leaves and instinctively recoil my hand under the prick of the holly or sting of a nettle.  I feel the sun on my back or more often here in Cumbria, the soft rain gently patting my face!

Actively opening our five senses, keeping them ever alert to the sights, sounds, smells, tastes and textures that surround us constantly brings happiness and dispels those feelings of lethargy and boredom that can afflict us.  We live in an artificial world surrounded as we are by concrete, steel, pavements, covered shopping centres, paved driveways and nature is pushed further and further to the edges of our lives, physically and emotionally.

Sit or dig in a garden, walk in a park, observe pots of plants in yards and on balconies and really notice what is around.  Once we switch off the thoughts and concerns in our heads and open ourselves to experiencing the moment, our senses can hone in and pick up all the impressions and communication that nature is offering to us. A renewed sense of wonder is instilled as the natural world displays some of its beauty and diversity.  

I was wrong in thinking of the garden as an extension to the house, another room.  It is much more than that; it is a universe with a life and aliveness that infuses my being, renewing and invigorating the life within me. Utilising our senses fully means experiencing the world about us.  There is so much beauty and wondrous things happening all around us, how can we ever be bored?  

October Morning Walk

  

I have just returned from a walk. With plenty to do, I shouldn’t have succumbed but the lure of this cold, sunny morning proved irresistible and before I knew it, I was opening the garden gate and walking along the local roads and lanes.  The little voice that usually tries to spoil the fun with ‘you ought to be doing such and such’, didn’t even bother whispering today, for it knew it would be pointless.  At sunrise, I had noticed the pink tipped clouds through the veil of mist, and took my cup of tea out into the garden where the steam from the hot drink mixed with that of my breath.  The cold nipped my fingers and slapped my cheek, rousing me from my sleepy state.  I was fully  awake now, alive to every little nuance, sight, sound and smell around me.  I drank it in.  On going indoors, I washed the breakfast things, immersing my hands in the warm, bubbly water and before I knew it, I was at the gate with coat on and hands deep in my pockets.  Nothing on my mind, just following my own footsteps.

What did I see on my walk this morning?  The sun in one direction, casting its warm rays onto the bodies of the sheep dozing blissfully in the fields.  I saw tree sparrows and green finches zig-zagging across the lane and darting amongst the branches of the trees and hedges, twittering loudly to each other. Rooks called from the tree-tops and a robin increased the volume of his song against the background of their raucous noise. 

I reached a gap in the hedge, a field-gate, and from there I watched the last thin wisps of morning mist fade to reveal nature in her Autumn dress.   No admission charge at this entrance to an exhibition of the highest Art.  Nature is generous and bestows her gifts freely on all who are prepared to stop and look.  The mountains lay in the distance yet every path and chasm was clearly visible.  In the near distance, a group of four or five trees were ablaze, as though red and orange flames were engulfing their leafy canopies.  Green fields surrounded me, laid to pasture, interspersed in places by some that were a pale golden colour following the harvesting of wheat and the cutting of hay.  A brown thread ran here and there between these fields, the recently ploughed rich, dark soil now visible and dotted with black and white specks where rooks and sea-gulls foraged for food.   To my left, spread over the wood like a patchwork quilt were trees and shrubs bedecked in varying hues and shades of yellows, golds, reds, oranges and  browns.

I stood mesmerised by such beauty and drifted out of myself to meet the fields, trees, birds and sky without moving from my vantage point.  I don’t know how long I was gone but I was roused from my trance-like state by the sound of someone saying ‘Thank you.’  
It was me. 

“I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.”

L.M. Montgomery, 

 Anne of Green Gables

Visitors Coming and Going

They all left yesterday.  

I said my good-byes and waved to family and friends as they left after a weekend of talking, eating, drinking, trips out and catching up.  Content and happy, I went to bed with a mind full of images from a busy, fun-packed weekend and awoke this morning in the afterglow of the happy events. I went downstairs and opened the blinds and my heart sank.  While I has been so engrossed in my own affairs I hadn’t noticed the other visitors departing.

The house-martins arrived in May and noisily set up home again in the eaves of the village houses, quickly becoming constant companions whose chatter and movements were the backdrop to my daily life.  In that time, these small birds brought much joy and comfort to me and the other humans they chose to live amongst for the summer months.  I sat watching them flying through the air, diving, darting, gliding, riding the air currents and following and interacting with each other in ways that could only be interpreted as playing.  My eyes followed them, as did my heart, when they soared up into the sky and my spirits were raised by the sense of freedom and joy they appeared to be experiencing.  

I enjoyed their company from the first day and I soon grew to love these little birds as they and I came to know each other.  When they noticed me in the garden, they changed the course of their flight and swooped low over my head, chattering and singing even more loudly as they went.  I often tried to sit and read but my eyes quickly wandered from the page up to the blue, cloudless sky and the aerial performance of these beautiful black and white birds.  Even when indoors, my thoughts wandered to the house-martins and I would stop whatever I was doing to look out and watch them.  It seemed impolite to ignore them and a waste of a priceless opportunity to witness their captivating antics. I noticed my neighbours felt the same way for I often saw them stopping in the road or interrupting their gardening jobs to stand and watch and admire our  feathered visitors.

And that is why they have been so important and precious to me.  I was constantly aware that they were merely visitors, their presence brief and transient, a precious gift to be savoured for a short time.  Over the past ten days, I watched them all the more closely knowing their departure was imminent  and every evening I went into the garden and quietly bid farewell to them in case they were gone in the morning.  But each new day, their chatter and calls reached my ears and reassured me of further happy hours in their company.

But this morning, I knew as soon as I was awake that they had gone for it was so quiet, with only the occasional chirping of a sparrow or two breaking the silence.  

All day, the sky has been grey and a heavy blanket of cloud hangs over the village.  Man, animal and bird are quiet, subdued.  It is as though all of nature, human and non-human, is mourning the departure of the house-martins and already missing the vivacious beings that filled the air with song and joy while they were with us.  I feel particularly sad for I missed their last days here, so wrapped up in my own world that I forgot about my non-human friends who had brought me so much happiness during their stay.  

I stood in the garden for a long while and saw the blue skies of summer again and the flash of their while bellies as they flew above me, the same abdomens that appeared blood-red when they flew through the light of the setting sun.  Silently, from the depths of my soul, I sent them a message of thanks and wished them a safe journey.  And I started counting the days until their return.

 

The wonder of it all is how these small birds can have such a huge impact on a human life.