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

Beauty and the Beast

It was the wrestling match of the month! I hope nobody was watching.

My intention was to buy some plant tags. One quick stop and then home. But it was a nice day, and the stroll through the plants would be so pleasant! I never know what I'll find there, but the lure is persistent. The garden sings such an ethereal song, and even at the nursery the song fragments find me if I take the time to listen.

I almost missed these little ones. A row of pines in little black pots, back in the corner. Pinus parviflora 'Cleary'... Pinus parviflora 'Ara kawa'. I could fill my heart with pines. Soft, inviting, beautiful, fragrant, tough. Into the cart they went.

Halfway down the walkway I turn back. If I wait, I can buy at a discount. I already have some potting to do. With resolve I return them to their places and walk away. But no, one is somewhat rare, and they might be gone in two days... Their arms reach for me like jubilant playful children.

Now they are safely home with me. The singing and laughter won me over. Cleary will be the first to be planted. I have the perfect pot for his glowing teal color.

Something isn't right. He comes easily out of his small plastic pot to reveal a troubled core. He is beautiful on the outside, severely dysfunctional below the surface. He's been in the pot for so long that the roots have grown around and created a deadly noose. The resinous pine sap has glued the rootball into a solid mass, sealing his doom.

Time to run once again to my mysterious benefactors at Conifer U. They assimilate and guard the collective confer knowledge of hundreds of years and thousands of brilliant minds. If Cleary can be saved, they will know how to do it.

Patiently they offer advice based on their years of experience and plant knowledge. He has one chance to live. I will need to soak the roots, break loose the glue, spread the roots apart and put him into the perfect dirt. I become the surgeon.



Soaking the rootball

 

Loosening the roots

 

A new chance at life



Now it is up to him and the life inside him. I've done all I can. He has been released from this choking prison. As I ponder the wonder of life and enjoy the rush of gratitude for my forum friends, my Creator drops a picture into my mind. This intractible rootball is so like the hardness inside some people. On the outside they seem beautiful, but inside their life is being slowly choked away. It can be hardness toward God, bitterness or unforgiveness toward others, selfishness, or in a few cases, just plain evil hearts. But all these people have one thing in common. The fullness of life that God planned for them will never be able to escape the choking death and bondage ahead unless the Master Gardener sends help. I'm so glad He can look into the hidden places of our heart and see our need!

Go, Cleary! You can make it! I'm cheering for you and wishing you fullness of life!

Lonely Spirit

In the hustle and bustle of running through life, something drew my eye. A tree by the side of the road, tall and stately, called to me to pause. A lone conifer, slim, artistic, and alone, and singing... singing some ancient song. I stopped. Something about it took my breath away. I found myself wishing I could get out the backhoe and bring it home to my garden. It so deserved to be in a place of honor and not alone and ignored.

For a few years now I've adored this beauty every time I drive by. These days it's looking a little tired, a little sad. I feel like I need to get to know it better, so I run to my mysterious collection of experts on the conifer forum with a picture. Sure enough, the answer comes quickly... Abies lasiocarpa, better known as sub-alpine fir. And it is slowly dying. It needs altitude and cool mountain air to thrive. It needs a mountain view and the companionsip of wild things. Here, it is out of its element, doing its best to shine in unnatural circumstances.

This tree's story pierces my heart, and now I know why. It is my mother's story. Born high in the beautiful Selkirk mountains to homesteading parents, she was yanked out of the home she loved and sent to boarding school miles away at the tender age of five. Her heart stayed behind, in the mountains, like this tree. She grew, married and had children, made the best of her life, but always longed for home. The "furry mountains", as she called them, were her natural habitat.

My dear mother is gone now, but we've taken her home... home to the cabin in the woods where she was born, to the house they built on the side of the mountain, to the millpond below the house, to the high mountain fire lookout, to the artesian spring gushing out of the side of the mountain.

My tree will never go home. It will die someday, perhaps soon, breathing a last gasp of car fumes rather than cool mountain air. Now I can hear its song... 
Schelomo by Bloch. Listen!