Earth Day Reflections

brand new radish sprouts

"Working with the soil doesn't automatically endow a man with either wisdom or philosophy, but it does make him aware of orderly sequences such as night and day, summer and winter, bud, blossom, and seed. And of such certainties as life, death, and change. Knowing these things, a man can live with himself and probably get along with his neighbors." --Hal Borland, nature writer, 1900-1978

It's not easy to sum up my sentiments on Earth Day. Like everyone else, I have a complicated relationship with the earth. Here in New England, bare ground has been veiled by snow in recent months, making my connection to the earth more obscured. When the snow retreats and the ground warms, I am eager to make that most simple connection again of skin to soil. This connection is primary to my sentiments on Earth Day, and indeed, it's the reason I'm making this post a day late. (I've been busy tilling earth, filling containers with it, washing it off of spring edibles and out of my clothes!)

Today there were others digging alongside me who were also keen to get their hands dirty. In the pouring rain, we worked to prepare the beds of a public garden for spring planting. Some of them had driven more than thirty miles to show up. Talk about compost, farmer's markets, energy conservation and volunteer work drifted in and out. I couldn't help but contrast this with other rainy days I've spent working in the same garden, when both words and working hands were few. The overall energy was positive despite the weather, and the drive to "get some work done" was palpable.

Because of Earth Day, conversations and activities that would normally be quite heavy were raised and spread amongst everyone. Most importantly, people who had never before thought of themselves as activists were taking part in the very activity that has moved some of the most influential activists of our time. Henry David Thoreau, David Attenborough, Micheal Pollan, and countless others made direct contact with the earth (observing soil, fauna, and growth), which sparked meaningful dialogues about our relationship with the planet. These are the kind of dialogues that resonate and move me to work with the soil time after time.

A few other garden bloggers, like The Sage Butterfly, are sharing three books that have influenced their views on sustainable living for Earth Day. Here are my top picks (and as I have already mentioned Henry David Thoreau, David Attenborough and Micheal Pollan, I will try not to allude to their major influence on me again):

1) The Sense of Wonder by Rachel Carson. It may not be a heavy-hitter like Silent Spring, which has spoken to the sharpest minds of the last half-century. Rachel Carson speaks to the spirit this time. It has particular relevance to anyone who can remember discovering nature as a child, or wishes to pass on some of what they've discovered about nature to future generations.
2) A Field Guide to the Familiar by Gale Lawrence. If Mother Nature herself needed a lawyer, Lawrence could defend her with ease. While she emphasizes answers to the most obvious, riddling questions we all have about the flora, fauna and natural phenomena in New England (Why do so many skunks end up as roadkill? What kind of beetle keeps thudding against the screen-door in summer? Does ragweed have any redeeming traits? How do I pick out the seasonal constellations? Where do Christmas cacti come from? How do rainbows work?)she also reveals the hidden patterns that make each one resilient, unique, and connected to us. No matter how little or how much I had been exposed to these things before reading, I was inspired to look closer in every case, often coming to respect even the most unsavory creatures just a bit more.
3)Keeping a Nature Journal by Clare Walker Leslie. Keeping a Nature Journal offered one more way, with hundreds of samples and activities, to cram more nature into my life. But there was a catch: I had to slow down. Waaay down. Instead of observing the natural world strictly in terms of education, business, recreation, or design, I began to take it all in just for the purposes of observing. I noticed that flies and bumble bees were not only collecting pollen from the flowers- they were clinging on tightly when the wind picked up, and hiding from rain under the petals. And the reason why there were so many starlings on my client's lawn is that they were sharing a meal of grubs, who in turn reside underneath the grass and feed on its roots. After observing this way, I hope to be more understanding of those kids I teach that are poised with hand lenses and notebooks, pencils and sample boxes. I want them to get the full picture too!

Seeds are Already Fantastic!

Am I being persnickety, or do these cartoons on seed packets seem out of place?

Anyone who's ever helped a child plant seeds knows that this kind of marketing is not necessary. The only fantasy on the child's mind as they choose the seeds, prepare the soil, sow, and water is that these tiny brown specks will change into something wonderful. Green shoots break through the soil surface and those fantasies are animated in real life, as a result of their hard work. I've witnessed many children excitedly dream aloud about what might happen next. It's a moment when less tangible fantasies of becoming a princess or having a lavish car are forgotten. The child isn't worrying about categories like brown, blue, boy or girl because real innocence has kicked in (not to be mistaken for the imitation innocence that's fostered in some of these images). Nature can spark imagination without any need for conventional fantasies imposed by others. Perhaps that's why so many of us return to the garden as adults to wait in lively anticipation for the seeds that we sowed to grow tall. What do you think?

Across the aisle from the seed packets, I found fantastic Phaleonopsis in living color. No cartoons necessary here!

The Eager Gardener

Galanthus nivalis Snowdrops

Every spring, when the bulky snowdrifts are replaced by emergent snowdrop flowers, eager gardeners experience something reminiscent of a second New Year. As an eager gardener myself, I can vouch that we may smile goofily for no apparent reason, flaunt numerous macro pictures to friends and family of what appears to be last season's leaf litter, place any magnitude of online orders for new outdoor accoutrements, spend entire evenings bundled up at the edge of the yard with our measuring tape, or lose our train of thought just looking out the window. We're thinking about the growing season to come, balking at the possibilities that arrive the moment after our shovel breaks the freshly-thawed soil again.

Lists of chores, lists of projects, and ever-present lists of enticing new plants are running through all of our heads. On the top of my project list every year, I am taunted by a resolution to begin my own garden blog. I make a play at joining the league of garden bloggers I've adored for years, but I never seem to get there before I have dirt under my fingernails and one hundred seedlings to determine the fate of. This year, I finally joined the blogosphere! Did I get here before I observed the first green shoots, attended multiple horticulture shows, or returned to my favorite hiking trails? Nope. There's been a lot to blog about already. But now I know for sure it's going to be another wonderful growing year, one that I want to record.