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Cultivating a Beautiful Garden

August 7, 2025 //
2

I have a garden. I find it a useful metaphor in life… for life, love, and living well. These things take real work, and benefit from planning, and a consistent effort to practice healthy practices, like the garden does. There are choices to be made regarding what to plant, where, and how to tend the garden through changing seasons. These requirements are basic to living well, too, and the lessons I learn in my garden are handy for living my life. I sip my coffee and think about my garden from the vantage point of my desk, on a completely ordinary Thursday morning.

…I’m not in my garden right now, but I kinda wish I were…

I learn a lot from my garden, practical things that guide my future decision-making like learning that timing, placement, and careful choices can really make a difference in the outcome. An example? I planted hollyhocks in front of the kitchen window, but behind a small Japanese Maple. They finally flowered this year, for the first time, and revealed what a terrible location that is for them; they grow taller than the rain gutters – or the little tree. lol

It matters where something is planted.

I’ve learned, in the garden, not to take planning too seriously. The plan is not the experience. Sometimes there’s joy to be found in an impulsive moment. A potted geranium purchased on a whim can become an eye-catching moment of beauty that brings real joy each time I pass by.

An impulsive choice can become a moment of beauty.

Choices have consequences. It’s not always obvious what those consequences will be. Something as small as an herb in a 4″ pot can become a “delightful monstrosity” that encroaches on the lawn, falling well outside the confines of the flower bed, and requiring constant pruning and attention to keep it within boundaries. Setting healthy boundaries is a useful skill, in the garden and in life.

It’s easy to misjudge the outcome of a choice. The consequences are non-negotiable.

In the garden, I’ve even learned that life isn’t always “about” me; we’re all in this together, each having our own experience. Every bird, bee, spider, worm, and visitor to the garden plays some part in the beauty of the garden.

It’s not always about me.

By far the biggest lesson I’ve taken from my garden is that I’ll rarely get more out of it than I am willing to put into it. The effort I make often determines my results. I harvest what I plant. My harvest is larger or smaller, depending on how skillfully I tend my garden, and how wisely I’ve chosen the cultivars I’ve planted. Timing matters, and seasonality too, but the thing that reliably matters most is the time I spend tending the garden.

The results in my garden are tied directly to the work I put in.

There’s no rushing the garden, really, and no real “short-cuts” to avoid the work required, or the time it may take to find some specific plant or variety that I most yearn to see in my little garden. I may know what I want (or think that I do), but lacking availability I may be tempted to compromise and settle for something different… or “less”. Are the things I want most worth working towards? Are they worth waiting for? (Sometimes they very much are!)

I once saw I rose that I instantly fell in love with, growing as a cascade of bold orange fragrant miniature roses that spilled over a short wall, covering it in beautiful blossoms. So pretty! I’d never seen an orange rose that I liked so much, and I really wanted that one in my garden…but it wasn’t part of my plan at that time, and years passed. 33 years, actually. I missed my opportunity – the nursery where I saw it closed. The breeder of that rose died. I moved, and moved again, and often did not have a garden at all. Then, I had a little garden and my own little home, and I searched high and low for this one rose that I wanted for so long… and found it.

Some experiences and moments are worth working towards, and waiting for.

Another thing I’ve learned in the garden is that there’s going to be bad weather now and then. There’s going to be rain. There are going to be storms. There may be damage to clean up. Sometimes things don’t work out ideally well. I’ve also learned that storms pass. The garden, and its near-infinite ability to recover from harm and continue to grow is a powerful metaphor for resilience, and a lesson about impermanence and the value in practicing non-attachment.

There are going to be rainy days – but they won’t be all the days.

And, like it or not, my garden teaches me to be humble. I can plan all I want, and I can do the work the garden requires in order to thrive. I can enjoy the fruits of my labor and find joy in the garden. In spite of all that, sometimes – without regard to my efforts and commitment and sense of purpose – the deer show up and eat my garden. It is what it is. So many lessons. So many changes of season in a lifetime. So much weeding and watering and sweat and work… and still, the deer may eat my garden.

Sometimes things don’t work out as planned. Sometimes the deer are going to eat the garden.

I smile and sip my coffee. The metaphors of camping and hiking give way to the metaphors of the garden. Tending the garden of my heart isn’t so different from tending the garden in which I grow my vegetables, herbs, and flowers. There are verbs involved, and my results vary. Sometimes I’ve got to begin again – and my choices (and the effort I make) really do matter. 😀 I smile to myself thinking of my Traveling Partner, and the work he’s been getting done in the shop lately. I find myself wondering if he takes life lessons from the shop, in the way I do from my garden?

…In a more practical way, I find myself planning to be in the garden this weekend, or even after work today; there is work to be done (isn’t there always?)…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a new day. Dinner on Tuesday included tomatoes and onions from my garden. I find myself wondering what may be there for tonight’s dinner? I think about the weekend ahead. I think about love. The clock is ticking – it’s time to begin, again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Roses, Summer, The Art of Being

Here Comes Summer

June 6, 2025 //
0

I’m sipping my coffee after a short suburban walk around the neighborhood where the office is located. In one direction, it’s all residential streets and quite cul de sacs, filled with pretty landscaping and flowers in bloom, and it makes a nice walk in the cool of the morning. It’ll be hot later on, and it’s clear that summer is approaching. I dislike taking my walks in the heat of the day, in summertime, so this early morning habit becomes quite a practical thing this time of year.

“Sweet Chariot” blooming.

I enjoyed the garden yesterday, and new roses intended for the bare slope beneath the back retaining wall finally arrived. They’re waiting for their moment for planting, which looks to be Monday since I’ll need help with that, and in the meantime they sit on the deck in partial shade, getting used to the climate and being watched and watered until Monday comes. R. eglanteria is a favorite species rose (for me), and I love the apple scent of the foliage and flowers. In the conditions here, it should root firmly, spread nicely without becoming “invasive”, and do an excellent job of preventing erosion where they are planted. I’m hoping that perhaps as they grow they’ll also be sufficiently interesting to the deer to distract them from my garden. lol (“Good luck with that, Lady, the deer are probably still going to eat your damned roses.”)

“Rainbow Happy Trails” blooming, each blossom like a tiny sunrise.

I think about other garden projects while I sip my coffee, and think ahead even to the autumn gardening plan. It’s not really time to bother with that, but it’s good to have a plan in mind. I giggle to myself when I realize I’m thinking about where to put still another rose or two, as if I haven’t already wedged in a ridiculous number of them for the space I’ve got. Most of the roses in my garden are smaller varieties (some are miniatures), which make good use of the limited space, and are uncompromisingly beautiful. In this case, size does not matter at all. I’m more interested in the health of the foliage, the beauty of the blooms, and the quantity and fragrance of those flowers. I love stepping out the front door and being immediately surrounded by an invisible cloud of sweet rose fragrances, which tend to “pool” in the entry way.

“Nozomi” thriving, in full bloom; she’s so thorny it is very difficult to weed her as much as she does need it.

I enjoy the sanctuary of my garden when I’m a bit stressed out. I love the moments I spend there daydreaming and reflecting on life when I’m feeling a bit stalled. I enjoy the practical metaphor for living that my garden represents, too. My garden teaches me, nurtures my spirit, and produces yummy vegetables, leafy greens, and moments of rest in a too busy world. I still have to work at it. We become what we practice. We harvest what we plant. There are verbs involved in life and gardening.

A tiny bug on my romaine.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’ll be late in the afternoon when I am next in my garden, watering, maybe weeding, planning the weekend project for better protecting the vegetable bed. I’m already thinking about it, which isn’t at all “being present in the moment”, because right now I’m in the office, beginning the work day. lol There are other things to do. Other places to focus my attention. Human primates are hilarious. I smile at my flights of fancy and eagerness to be in the garden; I don’t actually prefer to do the amount of work it takes to keep the garden beautiful, but it is work that must be done if I wish to enjoy a beautiful garden. There it is – the secret sauce to living well; do the work.

There’s also a certain amount of luck and happenstance involved…

I smile at the thought that “all it takes is hard work” – it’s a very “Republican perspective” on success, and it is misleading. Yes, it’s important to “do the needful” to succeed in life (or work, or love, or gardening), but also – there’s the matter of luck, good fortune, and circumstances being in favor of whatever thing I’m attempting to do. No one truly finds success alone, and while there are surely verbs involved, and yes the work we put in does have a lot to do with the success we find, there’s also no getting around the idea that we are each also very dependent on luck, and often the help of others. Maybe things just don’t go our way? Maybe the deer eat everything in our garden down to the ground and we’ve got to start completely from new seeds or plants and do it all over again? Maybe our crops become blighted, or consumed by some tiny creature? Maybe we become injured and simply can’t do the work required? I feel fortunate; although the deer ate my bean plants, those plants are recovering, putting out flowers, and seem likely to grow some actual beans before the summer is over. The tomatoes are also recovering. That’s a win, although it’s still possible the deer will have another go at my damned vegetables before I have a harvest. lol (It’s a helpful metaphor.) I’m fortunate that I also have help when I need it – I need only ask.

I sigh to myself and sip my coffee. It’s a lovely morning to be in the garden. I’m in the office. There are things to do here, too, and at least for now my time is not my own. I glance at the clock and admit to myself that the work day has begun. I look over my calendar, and my email. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Roses, Spring, Summer, The Art of Being

Roses and Memories

May 25, 2025 //
0

I arrived at the trailhead, sunrise well underway. It’s a cloudy morning, but the sort that hints at a sunny afternoon to come, more than it suggests rain. I start down the trail thinking about roses. Everything is green and beautiful and the air smells sweetly of fragrant wildflowers and mown grass. Wild roses are blooming along the trail.

One of several varieties that grow in the area.

The scent of the roses is particularly delightful and (for me) evocative. I have so many memories that are triggered by the scents of roses. When my Dear Friend died I added a wee “memory garden” to a corner of the yard, and added roses there (not that I didn’t have quite a few already, but these were chosen specifically with her in mind). I smile as I walk; the roses in my memory garden are blooming (well, two out of three). It’s their first year blooming. They’re quite lovely and smell wonderful. I shared pictures to my Dear Friend’s bestie. I know how painful missing such a friend can be.

“Rainbow Happy Trails” blooming

I have fond memories of talking about our gardens together, my Dear Friend and I. I have such memories of my late Granny, too, and my Mother. Many of my memories of times shared with my Dad are also gardening related. It seems proper to honor them in my garden. Memorial Day is tomorrow, and it also seems proper to be thinking of long gone friends, family, and loved ones, this morning. The sky overhead seems somber without being gloomy. I’m not grieving, just remembering.

“Whimsy” also blooming, her very first.

Funny how meaningful roses (and my garden) have become for me. Most of my roses tell a love story through the careful selections, each name hinting at the profound love I share with my Traveling Partner. Tokens of my affection, reminders of how complicated love can sometimes be. I chuckle to myself; my partner cares little for flowers, but loves me so deeply that my roses matter to him, if only because they matter to me.

“Alchymist” blooming in spite of being delicious to passing deer.

Some of my roses have their own stories to tell, having traveled in pots with me for some 25 years before being planted into the ground. Others captivated me so thoroughly that in spite of failures, I’ve continued to replace them. Still others, I yearn to plant in my garden even knowing they may not be suited to the space I’ve got left. lol Funny to be so passionate about roses. I wasn’t always, and there’s a story there too, perhaps for another day.

“Baby Love” blooming first, last, and almost all year long. Purchased the year my partner and I moved in together.

I get to my halfway point with my thoughts. The scent of roses reaches me from some unseen rose on the meadow somewhere. I have the trail to myself this morning, in spite of the holiday weekend, mild weather, and relative lateness of the hour. I listen to the breeze rustling the meadow grass. I am sitting in a low spot a hillside behind me. I feel “invisible” and safe. The busy squirrels, robins, and jays don’t mind my quiet presence. I watch them contentedly as I write, reflect and meditate.

Lovely morning for it.

I let minutes pass, grateful for the solitary time. I manage to miss my Traveling Partner, in spite of enjoying this solitary moment. He is more dear to me than I have words for. My garden is getting a bit weedy because I’ve chosen to enjoy my partner’s company rather than “do my chores” more than a few times over the past couple of weeks. I’m not complaining about that, it’s a worthy choice and the moments in a human lifetime are finite, each unrepeatable and unique. The time we spend together is undescribably precious.

… I smile, thinking about the number of my roses (and roses I’ve had in the past since 2010) that I’ve chosen with my beloved in mind. It’s many. It is, actually, almost every new rose I’ve chosen since we became friends, even before we were lovers, and eventually married. Of the 13 roses currently in my garden, 7 celebrate him (and us). Of the remaining roses in my garden, three are long-time favorites that are meaningful to me for other reasons, and three are the new ones I planted in the “memory garden”.

“Nozomi” with me 25 years, and one of the first roses I ever purchased from rose breeder Ralph Moore directly, though it wasn’t one of his.

I hear voices and the crunch of other steps on the trail. I sigh quietly to myself, sitting quite still for a moment, smiling when I notice that the squirrel nearby has done the same thing. We sit quite still, waiting to see what may come around the bed. Strangers call a friendly greeting as they approach and wave as they pass. I wave back and smile. We’re each having our own experience, but understand each other. We are enjoying this trail, this lovely Spring morning, and the scent of meadow flowers.

It’s a rather ordinary morning. My head is filled with thoughts of roses and the memories they evoke. I sit with my thoughts, and try to work out ways to discourage the deer from eating my roses. It’s quite a puzzle. I sigh to myself and plan to stop by the garden store on my way home, and get to my feet. The clock is ticking. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Roses, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, Uncategorized

Rain, Pain, and Joy Midst the Chaos

March 28, 2025 //
2

It’s a Friday, and seems pretty routine and ordinary so far. It’s raining. Spring in the Pacific Northwest, this is not unexpected. The weather is otherwise quite mild (where I am), and I am content and mostly comfortable, if a bit groggy. My body feels as if I overslept (I didn’t) and my mind feels as if I am behind on things (I’m not). Funny how subjective our experience of life can be. This morning I am frustrated and annoyed with the amount of pain I am in, and my lingering feeling of fatigue, in spite of getting a restful night of sleep. I sip my coffee, listen to the rain falling, and try to let small things stay small, and avoid Other People’s Drama or wallowing in chaos I can not control (or fix).

I breathe, exhale, relax, and think about… lavender. I’ve now planted six varieties in my wee garden, placed close enough to various roses to (hopefully) discourage the deer from eating the roses. That was the purpose of the lavender, but I actually also like the smell of lavender, and in springtime often enjoy tea with lavender in it, or some other beverage (even coffee) with a hint of lavender. I enjoy lavender scented bath soap and fragrances. I avoid “over doing it” – strong scents can be annoying in small spaces. I have the recollection that at some point there was the thinking that lavender was an old-fashioned scent, or somehow conveyed “age”… I don’t perceive it that way, myself (I don’t think I ever have, but I’m not certain of that and thinking changes over time). On the other hand, I’m 62 this year, perhaps I like lavender because I’ve “grown into it”? (Nah, I was using lavender scented shower gel back in the 80s, as a young soldier, and enjoying the way it brought Spring to mind, for me.) I sip my coffee, enjoying the thought of the newly planted lavender settling into the garden on a mild rainy day, roots reaching further into the earth, tender new shoots of greenery developing slowly. I smile to myself, happy to have a garden, and a home of my own. Happy to share it with my Traveling Partner who is so enduringly dear to me. He comes out and sits at the edge of the garden when I work, sometimes, making suggestions and observing the work, calling out jokes or loving compliments, sharing that time and place with me fondly, in spite of commenting that he “doesn’t care at all” about the flowers. lol He cares about me. That’s enough.

Lavender in my garden.

The chaos of the world (and the turd in a clown car parked in a raging dumpster fire that is currently American governance) nibbles at my consciousness, trying to encroach on my sense of peace and contentment, but a quick glance at this morning’s headlines assured me they are all yesterday’s headlines regurgitated over new bylines for additional clicks and engagement. No thank you. I’ve got my own pain, and my own shit to deal with, and I’m already well-aware of the shit-storm of additional chaos and disappointment likely coming for us all. I’ll do my best to take care of myself, of my family, of hearth and home, and to be kind to others, and foster a sense of compassion and community. It’s important to do my best to be the woman I most want to be, and to avoid becoming “one of the bad guys” and also to maintain a strong sense of self, and ensure that my ethics remain intact. Doing that isn’t a small thing, and it has real, lasting value. It may not change the world, but it keeps my corner of it tidy and free of unnecessary bullshit, which is worth something.

Speaking of pain… I’ve got mine. It is what it is. I’m doing my best to keep it managed and to avoid letting it become a decision-making force in my life. I’d rather ache a little from the bending and reaching of planting lavender in my garden than go without a garden. I’d rather be sore from miles walked on new trails that sit at home crying over the pain I’d be in, regardless. I’m not saying that to shame anyone or criticize someone else’s choices; it’s just my own path, and I’m doing my best to walk it in spite of pain. Fuck pain. It already occupies too much of my time and attention, I don’t really want to give it more – but there it is, a near constant companion these days. Some days worse than others. Today it’s there, but it’s not “everything”. I push it aside, again and again, and get on with other things. How about you? How’s your pain? Are you managing to manage it, mostly? Are you practicing good self-care, taking meds on time, getting enough exercise, and good nutrition? Would a hot shower help? Would some yoga help? Would it help to stand up and stretch and move around a bit? Would it help to distract yourself with something positive and uplifting, like a cup of tea with a friend, or reading an interesting book? I hope you take care of yourself – you have a life worth living, and a human experience to enjoy that is unlike any other.

I sigh quietly, and notice that daybreak has arrived, blue-gray and rainy. I’m not surprised. Daybreak was expected – I’m not sure how I’d react if one morning the sun did not rise at all. It’s a strange thought. I knew it would be a rainy morning, because it already was. I sip my coffee thinking about how much of my expectations of life, generally, are simply carried over from previous days and experiences. Habits. Routines. Rituals. Familiar paths and roads. Practices. I sit with that thought a little while and wonder quietly how I can free myself from sticky expectations and untested assumptions to more easily embrace the novel and unfamiliar, or at least be more open to it when it comes?

Seedlings on a sunnier day. What have you planted in your garden? (It’s a metaphor.)

I see my smile reflected back at me in the window. I’m okay right now, for most values of okay. Even my pain, which is substantial this morning, isn’t really holding me back at all. It’s Friday. I’m eager to finish the work day and return to the garden, just to see the lavender I’ve planted there, and to count the radish and pea seedlings that have sprouted, and pull some weeds. Small joys add up. I sip my coffee and get ready to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, pain, Perspective, Practices, Spring, The Art of Being, War and News of War

One Morning, One Moment

March 26, 2025 //
0

It is morning. A new day is beginning. I’m sipping my coffee. I flipped through the disappointing headlines and quickly move on; there’s nothing to see there, not really, and I don’t care to waste my time being pointlessly agitated by bullshit. I can treat myself better than that, so I do. I sit for a moment, quietly. The only sounds I hear are the persistent zing of my tinnitus and the soft wush of the ventilation system; all background, no features. Beyond the window, dawn takes shape, soft white clouds against the deep blue gray of the sky before sunrise. It’s one moment, of many.

Breathe, exhale, relax – and tend the garden of your heart with care.

I sit with my thoughts awhile, mostly thinking about the garden, where my Traveling Partner and I, along with the Anxious Adventurer, spent a good portion of the evening yesterday. My thoughts move on to an appointment, later, and later still an errand I’ll run for my beloved. I sigh quietly as a new day unfolds. The sky has become a beautiful azure blue. It’s already time to begin again.

Where does your path lead?
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Categories breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Spring
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