A matter of philosophy

Dear medit planters,
Yes, I am still alive! This is reprinted from an article I wrote in 
Suite101.com


I am about to write a simple sentence that I have never put to paper or 
stated in words. A revolution has taken place!

Today, the beginning of our three-day weekend in the country garden, was 
a magical, early Spring day. The sun sparkled with new, gentle warmth, 
the sky was as blue as it was painted in my childhood picture books and 
in my childish memory. The air was laden with perfume, sweet and heavy 
from the Jasmine, spicy and light from the Viburnums. As I put on my 
gumboots, took up my Dutch hoe and secateurs, I looked up and ahead at 
the garden, not down at the weeds. I stood still for a moment and 
breathed in the fresh air and then, I lay down my work tools [I kept on 
my gumboots] and walked slowly about the garden and looked with joy at 
what Spring had brought to me.
And now I will write it: The garden is truly beautiful

"So", I told myself, "You are becoming a real gardener at last."

You see, it is usual for me, as I walk through our garden, to find the 
weeds, the withered Camellia flowers, the seed heads on the 
Rhododendrons and the errant branches on the shrubs that I must remember 
to prune in late Autumn. I don't do it when I am visiting someone else's 
garden. I only recall the brilliant and exciting planting of the secret 
garden, the touch of humour around the pond, the wonderful perfumes 
captured in the courtyard. I never mind the weeds, the overgrown 
shrubbery or the garden of Petunias and Marigolds. I don't even see 
them, I only absorb the sensual reaction within myself of the joy of 
seeing the beautiful things in that stranger's garden

I reason with myself by remembering that we only have three days in a 
week to "attend" to our large garden, but that will not be my excuse. I 
recall that in the early days after purchasing the country property and 
before taking possession, I visited my favourite nursery man to purchase 
plants to furnish my dream garden. As I excitedly bubbled on about all 
my plans, my friend listened quietly to me. Then he firmly said to me 
"Listen to me well, Gay and remember this. You must take the time to 
enjoy your garden."

And so I did and so I will. I did not curse under my breath that the 
peafowl have taken bites out the leaves of one group of Trilliums 
because the purple flowers are still intact and the next clump is all 
whole and "wakerobins" is a wondrous name for these lovely things. 
Neither did I see all the dozens of seeded daffodil heads because just 
beyond them the late Narcissus are calling me to see how much they have 
increased since last year.

I stood and watched as the lime green fronds of the Manferns quietly 
uncurled themselves and I felt surprise and wonder as I learnt that the 
specie Rhododendron, which has kept its flowers hidden for the seven 
years since our planting, was not white as the books have told me but 
the palest of pinks and far more beautiful. I sat near the Viburnums and 
the Michelias and breathed in the scents that were wafting throughout 
the gardens and I listened to the many different bird songs. "Do we have 
so many birds busily courting and making their nests?" I mused to 
myself. "Why didn't someone tell me about it?"

How did that hymn go that we were always singing at role call in school 
when I was young? It was one of my favourites. Oh, Yes! I remember! "All 
things Bright and Beautiful. All creatures great and small" I now know 
exactly what those lyrics mean. I took a moment to learn.

-- 
Gay Klok Tasmania
A RHODODENDRON STORY
"What Rhododendrons did you buy?" asked Mary.    
When I informed her that they were Holmeslee hybrids, 
she looked at me with amazement.   
"But you cannot buy those, they are not registered"
 
http://www.suite101.com/welcome.cfm/tasmanian_gardening
http://www.geocities.com/RainForest/Vines/3411
http://members.tripod.com/~klok/WRINKLY_.HTM
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