Night Among the Giants

It should be chilly here. September is drawing to a close on this gentle night, but the summer is persisting. And the giants are speaking. I strain to hear them. Every giant has his own voice, his own personality, his own history. I think about my own journey through the wilderness, and the trees share their wisdom.

Some inconceivable injury broke this giant in half. Broken in two, it hung on, continued its life as a twin, and grew strong and tall, fed by its single root. It speaks to me of perseverance in the aftermath of some terrible accident some unexpected catastrophe. Life-changing. Scarred. Weak as a single, but strong together. 

Broken by a brutal storm, this tree fought to live. Transformed by its battle, it met and embraced its destiny as a wildlife tree where woodpeckers and nuthatches now find a home. It speaks to me of fulfilled destiny, of a new season of purpose. It's a giver of life to the precious creation.

What unthinkable accident could have caused this majestic being to grow along the ground instead of straight and tall? In childhood it grew bent and prone, as though hiding from the light. Then somehow it was transformed and began to stand and find its place among the giants. It speaks to me of transformation, of the moment when God speaks new life into a tortured beginning.

These guys declare their joy at being together, different and yet alike. They speak of community. Every individual is a precious design, loved and pleasing to its Creator.

Sitting among the giants is an experience of awe and wonder. They do not share their tortured past with me. Their whisperings are only of the glory they have found in their Creator. They speak strength, peace, sanctuary, worship. 

How many are your works, Lord! In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your glory!

The Alan Garden

It's been ten years since I've been here. Not that I've been away from my garden, but its whispering can grow silent when we get too busy to listen.

2020. My life ended. My dear husband of 45 years was struck by a silent unknown enemy, Covid. We didn't even know anything about it, and neither did the doctors that tried to determine what caused this giant to fall. 10 days and it was over, and life changed forever. Grayness. But God was waiting for me, in His usual place, the garden. 

I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses,

And the voice I hear falling on my ear, the Son of God discloses.

And He walks with me and He talks with me

And He tells me I am His own

And the joy we share as we tarry there

None other has ever known.

 A year earlier, a tree in our wild back yard had snapped in two, its top landing in our giant maple. In the course of removing all the debris, we began clearing 40 years of ivy growing in our forested back yard. By summer's end, we had a beautiful backyard park. Of course, lights were required! Alan set to work lighting up the beautiful cedars. This became his work of art. It was so right that it should become his memorial garden.

Now two years have passed. The searing pain of loss has subsided. The winter in my soul is making way for spring. A new season is beginning!

His daughters and I added a fern table, a dry creek, some Japanese maples and rhodies. The giant cedars remind me of God's eternal love, and how small I am in this beautiful world.

This garden calls to me. God meets with me here. It is a breathless, beautiful, sacred place. In the midnight hours, it is most precious, and it beckons me to come and listen to its music.

 

Musings on Babies

Our famiy has good news! Another child is coming to us. My niece has announced she is going to be a mommy for the first time. The parents and grandparents-to-be are very excited, and there's lots of preparation going on already. Our extended family is already huge and intensely close. Even though we are a diverse bunch, we would drop everything and be there for each other in a moment of need.

I was thinking recently how dependent an unborn baby is on its mother. Safe inside the womb, the baby receives whatever comes through the umbilical cord, good or bad. For many months the child is fed and nourished, and grows. Parent and child are as one, but the child is a completely unique individual.

As I was spending time with some of my new conifer babies, I realized how similar these infant plants are to human babies. A plant propagator starts with the mother plant, called the understock. It is healthy with a good root system. A small branch from another plant is grafted into the stem of the healthy plant, and if the surgery is successful, the small branch will begin to take its sustenance from the parent. While still attached to the understock, it will develop into a plant with characteristics completely different from the parent it is depending on for its very life.

Abies koreana 'Kohout's Icebreaker'

Pinus parviflora 'Tanima no yuki'

These are two of my babies, still attached to the parent. When they get a little older, the understock will be cut off at the graft and the new plant will develop into an adult.

Life is a miracle, whatever its species!

Not-So-Mighty Chiefs

I haven't been here in awhile. Life has its strange turns, and you never know when you're going to get surprised by one. My dear husband, soul-mate and best friend, went in for a simple surgical procedure on his carotid artery three weeks ago and came out with a dying kidney. Those pesky blood clots! One little blockage in a renal artery and a major body organ is strangled. I think when that happens in a heart, it's called a heart attack. Would this be a kidney attack? Whatever... we have moved into a new season of life where every day is uncertain and every moment is cherished.

I was sitting on my porch yesterday contemplating this sudden change in our lives when my gaze fell on my Pinus contorta 'Chief Joseph'. He is having a health crisis of his own. I guess I would have to say he's also fighting for his life due to circumstances beyond his control. First he lost every needle in a particularly wet winter. After I transplanted him, he seemed to go into shock, a downward spiral from which he may not recover, or will be forever disfigured.

Two chiefs fighting for their life, one in my garden and one in my life. I don't like this sense of helplessness. This is discord. This is a huge fermata in the music, time suspended...

This is my reminder that we are all one heartbeat away from stepping into eternity. I'm expecting both my chiefs to live, but for either of them this could be the finale of their life song.

The Word says "It is by Him we live, and move, and have our being." (Acts 17:28) It says "He holds all things together by the Word of His power." (Hebrews 1:3) It says "He has numbered our days before there was even one of them." (Proverbs 17:19-21)

It's up to God Almighty, all-wise, all-loving, Whose plans for each of us are perfect. His grace and strength are sufficient for every mountain we face. His blessed hope is the real music, after all!

Slaying Giants, Part 1

It was an expanse of garden needing to be filled. We were too busy building our house from the foundation up to be worrying about a landscaping plan. Big shrubs would make a nice screen between our neighbors and us, so off I went to bring home... something. "Something" ended up being a pieris japonica, a beauty bush, a burning bush, a snowball bush, a Rose of Sharon, and a red weigelia.

I like to believe I'm not the only gardener that makes these mistakes. Go to the plant store, find something blooming, bring it home and stick it in the ground. No plan, no vision, just space to be filled.

Thirty years have passed, and I have given myself a serious problem. Two, actually. I have fallen in love with conifers and need more space, and these shrubs have grown into huge monster bushes. Who would have dreamed that a beauty bush could block the view from a second story window? How could a small burning bush become a 15-foot torch? And that snowball bush is leaving its white blossoms on the roof of my neighbor's two-story house! These monsters have to be tamed somehow.

I'm starting with the beauty bush, which casts the largest shadow, refuses to bloom, and can no longer support its branches in our Seattle rain. Two years ago I took a chainsaw to it at the four-foot level, believing I could tame it. By this summer it had regained its height. Early on it dwarfed the Rose of Sharon, which struggled to survive by growing out of the ground horizontally in a desperate attempt to find the light. This is a giant that cannot be tamed.

Digging this one out is daunting. Its roots seem to go horizontal and its stem at the base is the size of a tree. And I'm not as young and strong as I once was. But it will go. If I have to dig every day for a week, it will go.

It is done. In the Bible, Goliath went down with one stone, but not all giants are slain that quickly. Some giants demand patience and persistence. And the garden is teaching me again, reminding me that there are giants in our lives that can only be defeated with the same patience and persistence. Addictions fall into that category. Childhood injuries and painful memories. Weight loss. Bad habits. God gives strength when our strength fails. I'm so grateful to the Lover of our Souls that longs to free us from these oppressive giants!

Beauty bush is gone. In its place, a beautiful Pinus parviflora 'Ogon Janome', also known as the Dragon's Eye Pine, will grow tall and its variegated needles will find all the sun they need. Soon I'll tackle the next giant, but for now, Ogon and I will find our song. The music is waiting...

The Two Gardens

The sun is out. For Seattle, that says a lot! The birds are busy at the feeders, the water is flowing in the fountains, the native geraniums are glowing purple in the dappled light, and overhead, my Acer palmatum 'Ukigumo' floats like a white cloud (aptly named "floating cloud maple"). Beyond, the myriad greens that make up my little forest world provide a living background tapestry. This is my view from my home office, and I am behind the glass looking out. I so want to be on the other side, but duty calls. Today I must work.


Back yard view from my office



Acer palmatum 'Ukigumo' (floating cloud)

What is it about a garden that calls to our very souls to come? I believe it's in our heart to need a garden. God himself planted the very first garden as He poured out his love in the act of creation. He placed the first man there. He gave His first man food, the company of animals, and a mate. It was all there in Eden -- beauty, love, nourishment, contentment, peace... God Himself. It all started in Eden.

"And the Lord God planted a garden toward the east, in Eden, and there He placed the man whom He had formed. And out of the ground the Lord God caused to grow every tree that is pleasing to the sight and good for food..."Genesis 2:8-9a

Fast-forward thousands of years. That first garden is now just a lost memory. This is another garden. Love, peace, contentment are gone. A Man is on His knees praying for a world in torment, a world bound by hate and ugliness, a world groaning for redemption. The ugliness that invaded Eden will end here, in Gethsemane, with this God-Man.

The two pivotal events in world history took place in gardens, two supreme acts of love. I believe it's in our human DNA to re-create Eden in our own way. It's our natural habitat, and there's music there that only the soul can hear.

Work can wait. I'm going outside to listen!

Gratitude

Stillness. The air is heavy, warm. Nothing moves, as though in breathless anticipation, waiting...

The weather is definitely confused. Last night the weather report said today's weather will be coming from the east to the west, over the mountains. That is so backward! We had three days of continual rumbling thunder, never experienced here before. It's July and I've heard the foghorns three or four mornings in a row. I think the jetstream must be lost.

Some of my virtual friends in the Midwest and east coast are going out of their minds from the extended drought. Today's reports: rain clouds but no rain; 5 plants going to the morgue; taking vacation time to water the gardens. One Kansas dweller is using a bottle cap as a rain gauge. 

The earth is brooding.

As a native Washingtonian, I've always hated the rain, the gray, the drizzle, the cold. I hate bundling up in sweaters and boots. I fantasize about moving to Hawaii. I dream of lying face down in turquoise blue water with my snorkel tube. This year, I've never been more grateful for the cool days, the lush green, even the smell of the fog.

It is so easy to forget about gratitude. I think all humans must be pessimists at heart. All the things that are "wrong" or uncomfortable can mask the bounty of blessings given every day... waking up to "the peace that passes all understanding"... the health and strength to be able to enjoy the day... the love of family and friends... the beauty of our creation... the gift of music.

I'm putting on an attitude of gratefulness. I'm amazed how it changes everything! Instead of seeing the gray sky, I feel the blessing of the cool moist air. Instead of striving, I can take pleasure from the simple things. When we fill our time and thoughts with meditating on God's blessings, there's no time left for negativity or depression, what I like to call stinkin' thinkin'.

Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, let your mind dwell on these things. Philippians 4:8