Learning to let it go - and grow
By Tim King
I got an interesting email from my aunt last week. It consisted of a conversation between God and St. Francis who were talking about a group called the “Suburbanites” and their odd landscaping habits. Here’s how it began:
GOD to St. Francis: “Frank, you know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is going on down there on the planet? What happened to the dandelions, violets, thistle and stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect no-maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long-lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, honeybees and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of colors by now. But, all I see are these green rectangles.”
To which St. Francis replies: “It's the tribes that settled there, Lord. The Suburbanites. They started calling your flowers "weeds" and went to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.”
God and St. Francis went on to talk about how boring green grass is, how we fertilize and water our lawns to make it grow, even when it is supposed to be resting, just so we can work harder (or pay money) to cut it down. God listened in further disbelief as St. Francis told him about the Suburbanites quest to scoop up every last leave in the fall, even through he intended them to be used as protection during the winter, and fertilizer come spring.
Imagine his shock to later find out that Suburbanites then cut down trees to grind into mulch to do the same job as the leaves!
While I will admit that I am guilty of many of these same tactics, the email did get me to try and imagine what a more natural landscape would look like in my yard. I began to look for examples to try and mimic.
I didn’t have to look very far.
The next time you are driving down main thoroughfare like Payne Road, the connector between Rte 1 and Rte 295 or Rand Road in Westbrook, take a look at the natural diversity of plants that thrive in the stretch of land between the road and the trees. I did, and was amazed at what I saw.
Where I had once seen only weeds and overgrowth (if I noticed anything at all in my rush to get to wherever I was going) I now became aware of a wonderfully wild strip of various colors, sizes and shapes that has grow and evolved entirely on its own. The view, when you take away the distractions of asphalt and road noise, would rival any other found in a more serene, hidden tract of land.
As I pass the wavering kaleidoscope of purple, blue, white and yellow flowers of all types, I wonder for a minute about a single stand of black-eyed Susan daisies that are set a few feet away from the others plants.
How, in the middle of the Maine Turnpike, high on a rocky cliff, with the noise and smoke from thousands of traveling vehicles, did this dainty blossom of sunshine come to be?
I imagine a lone flower flying out of a car, maybe a convertible, from a bouquet being brought to sick friend, like that floating feather in the movie Forrest Gump. Perhaps it lay along the roadside, withering in the hot sun, as countless cars speed by. Eventually, the petals dry and fall off and its seed pack lightens. One day, a huge 18-wheeler truck blasts down the breakdown lane and its tremendous backdraft launches the seeds up to more fertile ground.
All winter the seeds wait under a blanket of snow (hopefully) and are pulled into the soil by the warm rains of spring, and grow. With a firm foothold now in place and a bright future of life in the wild, Susan begins her new life overlooking the roadway where she was unknowingly abandoned just months before…and begins a family of her own.
One of my favorite quotes from Henry Thoreau is “there is only as much beauty visible to us in the landscape as we are prepared to appreciate—not a grain more.” I try to keep this thought with me as I walk, ride, hike or bike in order to better absorb what is in front of me. Like a Boy Scout, I want to be prepared, to see.
I realize that there is much more beauty already occurring around me than I will ever be able to replicate in my own private landscape. The challenge is knowing when to stop trying so hard and just let nature do what it does best – grow.
Tim King is a freelance writer who sees the forest and the trees from his home in Scarborough. He can be reached at - sylvan.sauntering@gmail.com
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