Nice walk. The few silent, alone minutes of this dawning morning
felt like Keats' urn, a still unravished bride of quietness. I'm back up
to four eleven minute miles. Two more to go. I glided along, in the
groove, knowing I was going to hit that milestone. Thank goodness for
glucosamine. Anyway, strange thinking was happening. My focus was not on
the walk. I knew I wasn't getting that sense of satisfaction from the
walk itself. I was thinking about the weeks and weeks of slow, patient,
hard rebuilding and reconditioning after a painful flare-up in my left leg
forced me to ease up and cut back to a mile walk. I was thinking about the
tough mornings, of the mornings my amgelic barracks sergeant grounded me,
of the mornings I walked through both the darkness and the dark aches when
I had an easy excuse to ease off. My joy and satisfaction and sense of
accomplishment was rooted in the "what it took" journey, in overcoming the
obstacles, usually unseen and unknown to all but me, to get to this point.
It didn't happen by itself.
Curiously, as I cooled off, I had the same feeling as I walked
through my blossoming flower garden this morning. It's an emerging
rainbow of color and smells and movements: purple heather, African
daisies, trumpeting amaryllis, white Shastas, purple echinecea, lush
plantation lilies, day lilies in all size and shapes and colors, wild
yellow coreopsis, majestic roses, dainty white beards, varieties of
rudebeckia, hordes of caladiums with their leafy collages, pink pineapple
geraniums, mountain petunias, veined wandering Jew.....
And yet, in this "birth of spring," I was thinking of what some
might call the ruins of winter. Weird isn't it. In the midst of clusters
of lush green I saw images of regal lilies hanging limp and lifeless
appeared. The vibrancy of the amaryllis and day lilies recalled a chilly
time when they were shriveled and browned and drooping and saddened. The
emerging pallets of glorious color set off dancing images of bare rose
spines, denuded tree branches, blackened and colorless vines, bland woody
sticks.
I started once again to see some universal smarts at work in both
my garden and my teaching. There are lessons are in my garden that I can
take into the classroom and from the classroom into the garden. Here are a
few that quickly come to mind:
1. In the middle of the "death" of winter, a true gardener, like a
teacher, believes in the coming of spring's and summer's "birth" and
"life." A true gardener has to know that winter is not, as someone put
it, a seasonal shank. It is not a period of death. It is an interlude. It
is a time of rest. It is a time of preparation. It is a time of
potential. It is a time of dormancy when the inner energy is there
waiting to be brought forth in a burst of glory. A true gardener, like a
teacher, in the midst of cold has faith in the coming of warmth. In the
depth of winter, a true gardener, like a teacher, thinks and feels spring
and summer.
2. If my garden is beautiful, it is because I've developed techniques,
habits, routines--and above all a spirit--necessary to make it beautiful.
There really is no such thing as a low or no maintenance flower garden. I
can't just toss out a few seeds, go ahead, and do whatever I want to do,
whenever I want to, and then expect to come back to find a beautiful,
garden. I have to get "down and dirty." I have meet each plant on its
terms. I have to adapt to each plant's unique needs. I have to be one
person and many gardeners at the same time. I have to plant, nourish,
water, cultivate, tend, care, trim, prune, dead-head, clean, protect if
I'm going to enjoy the garden. There is no secret about gardening:
experiment, lots of hard work, lots of time, lots of effort, lots of
preparation, lots of tools, many mistakes, tons of flexibility, much
learning from failure, perseverance, care, love, faith, endurance.
3. No beautiful garden can be created without enthusiasm. Enthusiasm is
the most powerful force at work in a garden, enthusiasm not so much for my
gardening as for the flowers in the garden. When I am enthused about the
garden, about each flower in the garden, I garden with all my might. I am
energetic, committed, optimistic, hopeful, and even spiritual about it.
You see, the blooming flowers are not the key to happy gardening. Happy
gardening is the key to a beautiful garden. If I am a happy gardener, I
will do whatever it takes to create a beautiful garden.
4. No flower is a mistake. Each is a miraculous creation of nature.
Each is unique. That attitude about gardening and towards each flower in
the garden is the dictator of the outcome of my gardening. A beautiful
garden is a collection of individual flowers. I plant seed. There is no
way of knowing when, where, how, and if those seeds will flower. I tend
them with a faith each is capable of flowering and will flower. Tending
each flower, one at a time, is what makes the garden beautiful. So, if my
garden is beautiful it is because I tend each flower with equal devotion,
dedication, commitment, and love.
6. My spirit is not just one thing that goes into my gardening. It is
everything. It determines what I see and what I ignore. It lets me work
at my play and play at my work. I can alter my garden merely by altering
my attitude. If I have less than a conscious commitment to my flowers, I
have an unconscious commitment to something else and am somewhere else.
So, I have to be careful in my garden, for I alter it and it alters me
every time I enter. Every flower offers me the choice to expand my vision
or smother my dream.
7. The key to a beautiful garden is asking the right questions of
myself. Before I garden in the garden, I have to garden within myself. I
am the first flower in my garden. I am the hardest to cultivate and to
bring to full bloom. You see, how I see the garden, is a confession of my
character. What I am works the garden far more than what I say. My inner
spirit abducts what I think and feel and do. The definition of a beautiful
garden comes, must come, only comes, from deep within. And, the desire to
reach those depths must come deep from within as well.
8. Most important: The garden can only become what I dream about. If I
want a beautiful garden, I don't just plant and tend to flowers. If I
want a beautiful garden, I have to long for the life-giving spirit of the
garden.
Make it a good day.
--Louis--
Louis Schmier [EMAIL PROTECTED]
Department of History www.halcyon.com/arborhts/louis.html
Valdosta State University
Valdosta, GA 31698 /~\ /\ /\
229-333-5947 /^\ / \ / /~\ \ /~\__/\
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-_~ / "If you want to climb mountains, \ /^\
_ _ / don't practice on mole hills" - \____
