After such a week, buffeted by events that have shaken the very foundation of women’s rights, I sought out a quiet morning walking by a wooded stream and hanging out in the spring garden. I did a spot of planting, followed by sitting with a pot of Genmaicha tea. This Japanese tea combines green tea leaves and roasted brown rice, which gives it a unique nutty flavour.
When I am quiet and alone, wildlife approaches, flutters and dances on the blossoms. This morning, I surprised a doe munching on fresh grass, who studied me warily for a moment and decided I was nothing to worry about. Two Steller’s Jays engaged in loud squawking and nosedives, expressing their irritation over a territory of which only they knew the rules and boundaries.
A couple of quail skittered across the gravel path. Solitary bees were diligently at work collecting pollen and nectar, feasting on the lupine flowers. A flaming dragonfly landed on a bare stick, while orange-streaked butterflies revelled in the purple blooms of the wallflowers.
My garden is form, texture, colour, scent, sound and succession at every minute of the day, in every season of the year. It is a slow burgeoning into beauty, framed by the fluidity of time. To fully immerse myself, I have to look, listen and stop. No longer do I view it as a litany of chores and tasks, although this is a very busy time for a garden-maker and vegetable grower.
In mid-May, even in a single day, stems, leaves and blooms shoot out, up and fade in rapid succession. Plants are eager and especially vigorous now. However, I’ve discovered the secret to gardening that has removed my stress and strain: a garden goes nowhere; it never arrives, it never leaves. It is ever here and ever now. With this in mind, I can engage and be fully present in the moment.
Foxgloves
This is my first year having common foxgloves (Digitalis purpurea). No spring garden should be without these tall beauties punctuating late spring displays. Finally, I caught on and planted some different varieties in late winter.
When I lived in England, I was told the local folklore of why this plant is called a foxglove. The farmers believed that foxes could slip their paws into the flowers, which would render them magically silent so they could sneak up on a chicken coop and make off with the hens. They would never plant foxgloves near their chickens!
The common foxglove is a hardy biennial, meaning the seeds can be sown one year and will flower in the next. Some can flower in the same year and are treated like a hardy annual. I tend to leave the spent blooms on some so that they can spread their seeds in the garden.
They have so many different colours and markings, but all have an elegant spire of pendant, tubular flowers with speckled throats. Mine range from creamy yellow to rose tints. They love full sun or partial shade, and I can grow them freely without fear of their poisonous nature if ingested by children or animals.
Lupines
Starting in early May, the perennial lupines have grown rapidly and have pushed up their unique flower spikes. There is nothing subtle about the shape and colour of hybrid lupines. The telltale look is a tall, showy spire of flowers in a multitude of colours. The foliage resembles palm leaves. Like the foxglove, they too are toxic if eaten.
Lupinus plants are members of the pea family, Fabaceae, and like peas, the plants actually are capable of fixing nitrogen in the soil. The major enemy of lupines are slugs and snails. As a totally organic gardener, I rely on several strategies—thick bark mulch, which the beasties don’t like to crawl over, and I fill a small container with cheap beer and leave it next to the plants. Slugs enjoy the beer and drown happy.
The key to organic pest control is strong, healthy plants and good soil that has been improved with organic matter. I cut lupines back vigorously after blooming, and they reshoot easily. My favourite variety is called “Manhattan,” with blooms of deep purple and neon yellow.
Physical activity, contact with the soil, and being outside in nature benefit my body and spirit. The truth about garden-making is letting time roll gently, not necessarily doing much but just being. Watering, clipping, weeding, a little planting or just looking carefully are all as important as anything else you might ever do or achieve in your day. It certainly has afforded me a morning of serenity and joy.
«VERWANDTES LESEN» MINDFUL GARDENING: 5 ways gardening can be an exercise in mindfulness»
Bild 1 Zoltán Kalmár von Pixabay 2 all other images courtesy of author
