Cultivation

Entropy: The inexorable tendency of the universe and any isolated system in it, 

to slide towards a state of disorder.

I was never any good at physics. The math scared me. Too many mysterious Greek symbols; too much abstract theory; too many incorrect answers in the haystack holding that one correct.The second law of thermodynamics (Steven Holzner, Physics I for Dummies, 2nd edition) says that heat flows naturally from an object at a higher temperature to an object at a lower temperature, and heat doesn’t flow in the opposite direction of its own accord. We can further say that it takes an input of energy to make that heat flow in the opposite direction.

Ok, I'm already yawning, and still a little bit scratching my head, wondering if I really understand.

But let me go outside and take a bit of a walk around.

There is no doubt that, without lots and lots of energy input, the plant world around me will quickly slide towards that state of disorder. In my line of work, I was always struggling with all the energy I had in me against that state of disorder that I called weeds, or uneven growth, lack of appropriate water, need for nourishment, insect damage, fungal and bacterial infections, etc. Now there's an example of entropy that I really get.

Since I sold the nursery property, I've been sadly witnessing that slide every day. 

The fields are unmowed.

The ornamental display beds have disappeared back into the tall grass. In the space of two months, poke weed, china berry, sweet gum have begun to rival the size of conifers that are 10 years old. I am getting some sort of perverse pleasure in realizing that, as far behind as it seemed I was, I actually did a pretty good job keeping all the power of the natural laws of the universe at bay.

 I wanted to think that I was working with nature to produce my plants and take care of my garden, but now I realize how much was lined up against me as I tried.

So I've been mulling over the concept of cultivation.

The basic definition of cultivation comes from tilling or otherwise working the land to grow crops - specific crops. It is agriculture, and horticulture, and eventually civilization to grow crops for increased yields and specific uses. 

Cultivation implies a particular method, or culture, to take care of the land and the crops, and then infers other beneficial meanings to the word culture, suggesting a refinement, kindness, proficiency, or even beauty. 

As the definition broadens, most synonyms of cultivation seem to point in the direction of improvement, maturity, learning and wisdom.
The language of making order seems to value these pursuits.

MC Escher said " We adore chaos because we love to produce order."

 

Alain de Botton said "Work is a way of bringing order to chaos, and there's a basic satisfaction in seeing that we are able to make something a little more coherent by the end of the day."

Looking over the property line to the chaos next door, I guess I would tend to agree.

But that property is not mine any more. As it moves towards ever increasing natural randomness, it reminds me of the Robert Frost poem Mending Wall

 Something there is that doesn't love a wall,

That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it;

And spills the upper boulders in the sun....

Those lines must also refer to that same slide towards disorder, and the work required at spring mending-time to set the wall between them again.
But maybe more important for me is the warning: 

Good fences make good neighbors. 

The Janus Effect

In ancient Roman religion and myth, Janus (/ˈdʒeɪnəs/; Latin: Ianus, pronounced [ˈjaː.nus]) is the god of beginnings and transitions, and thereby of gates, doors, doorways, passages and endings. He is usually depicted as having two faces, since he looks to the future and to the past. Wikipedia



"Remember when we laid that tile floor? It was really damp and cold, and you didn't really want to try it. But it turned out great."
"Look! I found the labels I was looking for last month."
"When we put that shower in, it was luxuriously huge compared to the old house."

 I've been doing a lot of commentary like that lately, squeezed in between long hours of cleaning, sorting, saving, trashing. So much of what I am was built, piece by piece, plant by plant, at that nursery. Now in some ways, I am taking it back apart, piece by piece; plant by plant. It has been a little bit of a sad progression. I am recognizing a series of "last times", too. Last deliveries, last talks, last orders. Last weeding, last Round up spray, last grass cut.
It's as if I must now maintain two faces- the one that looks ahead while one continues to look behind.


The good news is that the transition has been relatively quick, and not terribly painful. The property sold quickly, and the clean out was a Herculean task done at hurricane speed. Now what remains are plant propagules that I just haven't been able to part with yet. 
 But maybe that day is even just a short glance ahead.

So now when I look forward with one face, I hope to use the gift of hindsight to guide me. My days will be a bit like a game of Jenga. I'll be "downsizing"; taking out things, and places, and even people without disturbing the framework of a life. More and more I can see what is important, and what is distracting me from important. I aim to use that rear view to help me remove the diversions and to explore the significant.

I'll also probably lean on those grandson eyes to guide my future. Right now, there can be no happier place. But I know that will also change when the granddaughter arrives in just a few weeks.

At the end of the day, at the end of a career, at the end of a life, there are ways to look back and ways to look ahead. I am feeling pretty good about getting to the heart of it, and opening my mind to that "beauty, joy and strength".



Life has no other discipline to impose, if we would but realize it, than to accept life unquestioningly. Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny, denigrate, or despise, serves to defeat us in the end. What seems nasty, painful, evil, can become a source of beauty, joy, and strength, if faced with an open mind. Every moment is a golden one for him who has the vision to recognize it as such.

– Henry Miller

The Barber Shop for Gardeners

When I was a little kid, sometimes in the summer I would go to the country to spend a week or so. At the end of that long drive (40 miles) to my grandparents, I was in for all sorts of fun and unusual activities. I learned how to separate cream from milk. I learned how to make butter from that cream. I helped turn the handle to wring the clothes dry, and then, once outside, handed each wet cloth ball to my grandmother to hang out on the clothesline. I picked tomatoes, dug potatoes, and cooled off in the evening watering the garden.
My grandmother and I walked to town to get groceries the old fashioned way. Once inside Bill Stengel's store, we would greet Mr Stengel, and anyone else my grandmother knew there, and then recite the store list, item by item, as Mr Stengel walked up and down behind the counter to retrieve each. Occasionally, he would even have to climb the rolling ladder to fetch something from a higher shelf. A healthy shopping day might yield two sacks of groceries, so I could help carry one home.
So far, this might all sound more like work than a summer vacation. But everything was so different, and my grandmother was such an engaging character, It was truly a "Tom Sawyer fence painting" experience which I loved.
But of all the things I might experience at my grandparents', my very favorite was  Tuesday morning. That was the day that my grandfather went to the barber shop. He went every Tuesday to meet many of the retired men in town, whether anyone actually needed a haircut or not. These were "Andy of Mayberry" days, when men congregated in the barber shop to chew the fat. When I was visiting on a Tuesday morning, he'd take me, too. Obviously it was benign conversation, since they allowed me to attend. Mostly they drank cokes in bottles from the vending machine in the corner, then bet nickels to see who would have the bottle made in the farthest bottling company. They talked; they told jokes; they enjoyed the camaraderie.
These are great, far away memories. But I've always said that when we get together, my plant buddies remind me very much of the fellows at the barber shop on Tuesday mornings. Even more, I wished that our little retail nursery could become a gathering place, like "the barber shop for gardeners".
 Today I had a hint of that vision right here. There were a few new folks here, as well as some seasoned veterans. Somehow, the group just casually mixed, exchanged ideas, gave their own opinions about this plant or that, bought plants, compared notes on gardening friends, and just generally enjoyed a long stretch of camaraderie.


We've always wanted to be known as having good, first hand knowledge of our plants that we can share to make our customers more successful. I think we've been pretty good at accomplishing that.
 But this experience- the group coming together - to explore the important and the insignificant of gardening on a beautiful spring day in the middle of my garden. That is a dream come true!

Now that we are at the end of our retail days, I can't imagine a better way to go out.

" Lots of luck to you and yours!" 
Oh, yeah, and "Goober says "Hey!"

The Red Thread II

I got a package a few days ago. It was small and unexpected. What was inside filled my heart, and seemed deliberately intended to remind me: 

"An invisible red thread connects those destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstances. The thread may stretch or tangle, but never break."  

Ancient Chinese Proverb

I met the couple at the nursery some time ago. They were looking for a special plant to use as a memorial. He had done a lot of study on what might be a suitable choice, and he was happy with the plant once he had made his decision.

But, as is often the case, one plant is not enough. So they came back for more. They talked about their garden, they shared their ideas on design, colors, style, even family. They began to open their hearts in tiny pieces over those intimate personal plant choices made for their unique requirements. And pretty soon, the topic of gardening had washed over the relationship, and left little pockets of warmth and substance between people who were otherwise strangers. 

           
   This, I should have known, is The Red Thread. 

I don't see them often. Our purpose for meeting is always plants. Yet with every opportunity, they share a little more of themselves as I share a little more of my world. I have watched them pregnant with a new son. I was so happy for them that I couldn't help but send them one of my favorite all time "boy" books to celebrate.

I have been honored to have been the reason for that son's first longer car outing. I have sent them into the retail area with others so that I could have that beautiful baby boy all to myself for a few minutes. You'd think I deserved some claim to him, but I don't. 

 They just offered it to me.

Since then I have also found that he reads my blog from time to time. He noticed recently that I was expecting two grandchildren, and he commented about how he had enjoyed my blog, and my news. So here comes a package this week with two beautiful, horticulturally inspired journals. He suggested that since I liked to write, I should write notes to my coming grandchildren, and pass them on when they are older. He says he wished he'd had a journal like that from his grandmother.

 Even before I had, he thought of something that I would love to do, and provided me with the materials and the motivation to get started. When I read that note, I felt a tug from that invisible tie to souls who are destined to meet. A gift so simple and so profound cannot be explained any other way.

           If you're not convinced, these are the quotes on the back wrappers of the journals:

"Many eyes go through the meadow. 
But few see the flowers in it."
Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Words form the thread on which we string our experiences."
Aldous Huxley

  Sounds just like me.

 

Resolution

“We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Year's Day.”
― Edith Lovejoy Pierce

 January 1, 2015. It's that time of year when the inevitable "New Year's Resolution" rears it's ugly head again. So, of course I am going to eat healthy, exercise more, and drink less. So far so good. It's almost 3 pm, and I am almost perfect.
This year is a little different. My resolution is also a little more complicated than the standard one, but I am hoping it is a lot more achievable in the long run. In fact, this year I might refer to my resolution with a capital R. It encompasses multiple definitions of the word, and multiple years in the making.

First, there's the picture of what I want my future to look like.  
"Resolution- seeing a clearer picture, as in the degree of detail visible in a photograph". I've spent the last couple of years turning knobs in my head to get that picture focused. The girls have helped me zero in on the particulars, and I now see distinctly that the babies to be will and should take much more of my time and energy. I have been immersed in the world of plants for a long time now, and that has taught how to watch as buds swell, leaves unfurl, flower petals perfume the days. I am excited by each stage of growth, and have learned to ingest each moment with great pleasure.

Now I look forward to that same painstaking but luxuriously leisurely interest in each grand baby, and to watch my own girls enter the next stages of their lives.

"Resolution- the process of reducing or separating something into its components". So, how do I take this nursery, this business, this career, this passion apart ? I can't just give it up without giving up myself. Instead, I must pick the most essential pieces, and find a way to shed the other parts. As the day to day, season to season goes, the propagation of new plants is the art, the science, the magic I live for. Whatever I do, wherever I go, I need to have that contact with nature for grounding and for sheer exhilaration.

So, I will take just the early moments of a plant's new life, and let go of the growing and feeding and pruning and maturing.

"Resolution- the solution, the end to questions or symptoms, a settlement"- I've watched a lot of nursery folks wear themselves down to a nub, or less. It is a hard life, but a life hard to give up as well. What happens to all the special plants, the stock, the potential seedlings bred for the future? The pull of the process is so strong towards the future that it makes logical, practical planning for an end difficult, if not impossible. The resolution, therefore, must be the end of questioning when, if and maybe even why. It must be done by choice, not by chance. So, we are beginning the process of selling the nursery property, although still also propagating and transplanting plants.

We'll wind down across the spring, and get serious about reducing inventory down and calculating sale pricing up until we meet the equilibrium we desire. There we will find our settlement, and go on, comfortable and clear, into the next phase of our lives.

It wouldn't be resolution if it was easy. There's a struggle at every step; a stall, a quiver, a tear at some. 

I understand now that resolve must be unshakable, strong-willed, adamant, single-minded. It is difficult to give up one loved life for another.  

But, as Robert Frost says, "

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep".

“For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning."

(Little Gidding)”
― T.S. Eliot