If you’ve been reading Secret Garden since its inception in October 2006, you’ll probably (hopefully!) have figured out by now that for this author at least, gardening is very much a metaphor for life. It’s practical too, keeping my family well fed and offering a place of beauty and solace. But gardening is richer and deeper than a weekly checklist of tasks. It can build character, and it can teach us how to live well.
As economies around the world drown in a cesspool of toxic debt and as the earth warms to ever more dangerous levels, it appears to me that we all need a collective kick up the bum, a reminder that we don’t know it all, that we’re not the masters of the universe we think we are, and that we’d be wise not to repeat the mistakes of the past. I’m of the view that gardening above most other pursuits, can impart the kind of education that we need to steer a more sustainable course into the next decade and beyond. Here are just a few things it can teach us:
1. Patience
You’ve heard it before: we live in an instant society. With the flick of a switch or the click of a computer mouse, we can get almost anything we desire. In the gardening world, this need for immediate gratification is most evident in the “blitz”, which flies in the face of the fact that true garden making has nothing to do with garden makeovers. Instead gardening has everything to do with tuning in to those natural rhythms we call seasons. Plants grow at their own pace, compost breaks down slowly, flowers emerge on cue not when we ask them to, but when the hours of daylight or the temperature is right. Garden for any length of time and you’ll learn what it means to be patient.
2. Humility
One of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever heard was from an old bloke in a nursing home who said that if he’s learnt anything, it’s that he’s still got a lot to learn. This principle is especially true of gardening. By choosing to work with nature, which is infinitely variable and prone to wild fluctuations, gardeners with any inkling of pride will quickly be put in their place. All it takes is a drought, a flood, or a bushfire.
The other way gardening teaches us humility is by its very enormity. Be very suspicious of anyone who claims to be a gardening expert. There is no such thing. While some gardeners have more experience than others, there will always be new plants to grow, new challenges to face and best of all, new seasons to work with roughly every four months.
3. Generosity
I spend quite a lot of time with gardeners. This is partly due to the fact that I’m a garden writer and I sell fruit trees to fellow gardeners, but it’s also because I like spending time with gardeners socially. The reason is simple. I’m yet to meet a more generous group of people.
Of course there’s a long tradition of gardeners sharing cuttings and knowledge amongst themselves. As I write, a package from a reader has turned up containing some garlic bulbs for me to try, but my hunch is that the generous nature of most passionate gardeners stems from a genuine sense of contentment, not competition.
4. Contentment
In the last few years, I’ve learnt that the times I feel most content are when I’ve done something physically productive. Like splitting wood for the heater, or better still digging in the vegie garden. I love a good dig. My mind becomes quiet as I hook in to the task at hand. Any sense of frustration or anger disappears, and I never come inside from an afternoon spent digging in a grumpy mood. It’s hard to be restless when you’ve dug over a good patch of soil, raised a decent sweat, and are physically tired. Mostly, you just feel satisfied with your work, and in my case, hungry.
I can’t guarantee that the meaning of life will be found in the garden. But what gardening does offer to those who take up the spade and dedicate themselves to working with the natural world is an education in life and character as substantial as any university degree. We should never underestimate the value of working with the soil and the seasons.
First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle 18th April 2009. Picture by Justin Russell, Davidson Arboretum, Highfields.
