Natural Connections

60: (May 2019)

After a long, cold, very wet spring, gardening season is finally here. I eagerly spend every available minute tending to my flower garden. I used to know very little about gardening, not that I’m an expert now. But what began as a blur of patterns and colors years ago has evolved into a greater consciousness of how the flowers and herbs I grow can benefit or inadvertently harm insects and birds, and consequently, the environment in general.

Years ago, the health of the planet seemed a given; I took it for granted. It didn’t occur to me that my life depended on the health of the pollinators that might benefit from decisions I made about my garden. Living in the country has been a tremendous blessing; nature has patiently taught me so much. But all the while, nature was becoming imperiled, more fragile than I had ever realized.

So when I plant flowers now, when I till the soil to make a bed for new flower seeds, I plant them with the prayer that they flourish and turn into a feast for bees, other insects, and birds. A feast that has no pesticides. An offering that communicates gratitude for their part in the dance of creation, their part in our extraordinarily complex web of life on earth.

When I tend the garden, I know that it will be a haven for the harmless garter snakes and chipmunks who find shelter there. I anticipate that the deer, as well as the occasional porcupine, will find delight as they meander in to eat apples off the old apple tree later in the season. It pleases me when the birds eat most of the cherries off our cherry tree; after all, one pie per season is all we really need.

The lawn continues to shrink as we allow more wildflowers to have their way. The creeping thyme and summer savory have also consumed more square footage of the yard with each passing year, crowding out grass that serves little purpose and requires mowing. These low-growing herbs smell delicious underfoot and eventually create a flowering carpet that attracts pollinators. When milkweeds spring up in surprising places on the lawn, they are carefully mowed around so that monarch butterflies can lay their eggs on them and caterpillars can munch on their leaves before working their magic.

The connection I feel to the garden continues to grow over time, and our relationship has deepened. For that’s what it is: a relationship. I strive to respect, value, and love the earth and all its glorious blooms and creatures, just like in any good relationship.

Every year I dig in the earth on my hands and knees, hoping to learn more of its mysteries, privileged for the opportunity to experience another season of growth.

40: (May 1999)

How could I have gone through 40 years of life without learning about trees? Oh, I’m sure I learned a few things about them at some point in life, but I didn’t retain much of that knowledge.

I knew birch trees were white, and oak trees dropped acorns, but I couldn’t walk through a forest and identify most of those tall wonders. I could not look at most leaves and tell you what they were. I had been to college and graduate school, but I could not tell you the basics about trees.

I only realized the depth of my ignorance when I began planning this past year’s “Nature Club” for my younger daughter. I decided that teaching them about trees would be fun, and then quickly discovered that I didn’t know enough to adequately teach the 4- to 5-year-old set without doing research.

During the introductory session, I explained to the children how people breathe in oxygen made by trees, and trees breathe in carbon dioxide made by people. “See how we need each other to live?” I asked them. It struck me that I had been severed from this connection on a gut level up to that moment. As children, I think we intuitively feel the connections between various forms of life, but as we grow up we begin to feel omnipotent, superior. We lose our sense of interdependence.

The children and I walked through the forest surrounding our home, and we observed the trees. We did not walk quickly, hoping to maximize exercise value. We ambled. We touched the barks to discover their age by feeling how smooth or rough they were. We looked for other forms of life thriving on the trees and found insects, snails, and birds. Pushing down tired and deadened trunks, we touched soft, decayed stumps, peering into holes pecked by woodpeckers. The children climbed strong, healthy trees and experienced joy.

I know I played in forests as a child. Somewhere in my attic there may even be a leaf collection from my childhood, possibly labeled. But labels are not what matter most. It is what is understood on a deeper level that holds the greatest value. When I feel connected to other living things, there is appreciation, and then true learning can occur. It then becomes not merely important, but vital.

This time around I will not abandon what I know in my bones. I will try to keep my eyes open and take the time to see what is before me. I will try to listen to the life force buzzing between all living things and experience this silent communion. And hopefully, I will remain humbled by the knowledge that even as adults, we must depend on other life forms for the very breath we take. Independent? Take a walk.

60-40:

I clearly remember that sense of awakening to our interdependence on trees while teaching that Nature Club I started for my daughter and her friends 20 years ago. Now I help with fundraising for the Harris Center, where teaching children about nature is at its core. If children are awakened to the connection to nature on a deep level, they won’t have to wait to wake up until they’re 40 years old. Or 60. Or maybe never! And they can care for that relationship right away, which is essential to helping our planet survive.

I get extreme pleasure in watching things grow, in helping them along. It’s deeply satisfying to witness stems, leaves, and dazzling flowers take shape, transforming day by day. Miraculous.

So I weave myself into the earth a little more with each passing year. One day I’ll literally be part of it. And that’ll be just fine with me.