I’ve been out in the garden the past few days. I’m not as fast and headstrong as I used to be. I’ve decided that a perfect lawn and a perfect garden is a man-made invention. My crazy obsession with perfection led me to unhappiness. The best way I’ve decided is to work with Mother Nature rather than against her.
Today I worked on the side that I can’t see from my kitchen window. A little future encouragement to step outside.
As I was cutting back dead growth and pulling onion weeds, I was reminded of the history of the land where my garden now sits. I read once that it was farmland used for growing grass and making hay. In my mind, I envisioned onion fields.
A housing development was built in the early fifties. My husband bought our house from the original owner. The developer apparently went broke after battling with the rock that lies not far below the surface.
The original owner was a man named Kohl. I’ve heard he was a gardener of sorts, though by the time I arrived on the scene there was little organic evidence. His presence is embedded in the concrete block garden house that now holds up our deck, and the concrete steps that connect our back yard to the side yard on that side of the house.
The other day I read something about church acoustics and church ghosts singing along with the choir. This made me wonder if old man Kohl’s ghost still comes around my place.
Many years ago when my garden was in its heyday, and when I had four trellises full of abundant yellow roses, I had a stranger stop by. He claimed to be a relative of the old man Kohl. He had heard I had a garden he must see. He said that Kohl had been a gardener, and he would have been pleased to see what I had done. I felt very proud that day.
Now I feel that old man Kohl’s ghost must be feeling my pain. Once again I tackled the tall old Juniper stump covered with overgrown ivy. A perfect gardener would probably cut her down. As I pulled away the ivy I could begin to see the alcoves of the dead tree. They are perfect nesting places. I was reminded of a picture I took one year of a nesting Mourning Dove. The thought of baby birds keeps the old stump standing.
My conclusion at the end of today is that the blending of man and land is meant to go through different cycles and seasons. I’ll have to trust that God has a future plan.
movingforwardslowly 