My Marin Indipendent Article
http://www.marinij.com/ci_13196476?source=most_emailed
How it is: Each flower that blooms will fade, as will we all
Jerlina Love
Posted: 08/24/2009 08:10:20 PM PDT
I began working as a garden apprentice at Green Gulch Farm the first week of April. We began the apprenticeship by prepping beds for spring. We weeded and turned in compost and a few weeks later, as the rains tapered off, we began planting. Sunflowers, clarkia, cosmos, status, scabiosas, asters, dahlias - the list went on. Over the following weeks we continuously prepped and planted as waves of flowers emerged into full bloom. Peonies and magnolias, old roses and grand Thomases, foxgloves and sweet Williams all burst forth, dazzling the crew and garden visitors with a spectacular show of spring color.
But one by one each variety began to fade and the dead flowers are removed. Open space at the end of a bed is often the only reminder of where great beauty once stood.
Three months ago, we pulled dozens of boxes of dahlia bulbs out of the basement and planted them in the beds near the garden gate. When the first dahlia burst into bloom in front of the garden shed, I noticed my heart began to ache.
It was with the dahlias that I began to meet every new bloom with a twist of sadness. Knowing that the petals would fall, the leaves would brown and the roots would shrivel felt like a burden too heavy to bear. By the time the dahlias were in bloom, I had witnessed dozens of varieties of flowers arise and eventually fall back into the earth. I felt heavy with the thought that every flower start or seed that we planted would eventually die, and this was coupled with a sense
of gloom that eventually made its way into my dreams.
My first dream about death in the garden was highlighted by my crying, "They're all leaving, they're all dying" as I walked between rows of flowers. I was comforted by Sukey, a former garden manager who responded warmly with: "They'll be back." I woke up feeling like I had just experienced a long cry.
My second dream was a few weeks later, and this time I was holding a bouquet of flowers, cropped to sell at farmers market. The message was the same: Each flower that blooms in this garden will fade no matter how much I care for it. Again I awoke with an aching heart.
Some time has passed since I had these dreams, and with some thought I have arrived at a new perspective. It is my sense that my life and its many adventures are as impermanent as the lives of the peonies and magnolias. However, when I indulge in my anxiety about the future, I seem to diminish my ability to fully appreciate every moment of my own life and the life of each bloom. I have begun applying this perspective to my apprenticeship at Green Gulch, which is quickly coming to an end. I am challenging myself to let go of the melancholy its impermanence and instead I am striving to be fully present each time I prune, mulch or slowly walk through the dahlia beds.
How it is: Each flower that blooms will fade, as will we all
Jerlina Love
Posted: 08/24/2009 08:10:20 PM PDT
I began working as a garden apprentice at Green Gulch Farm the first week of April. We began the apprenticeship by prepping beds for spring. We weeded and turned in compost and a few weeks later, as the rains tapered off, we began planting. Sunflowers, clarkia, cosmos, status, scabiosas, asters, dahlias - the list went on. Over the following weeks we continuously prepped and planted as waves of flowers emerged into full bloom. Peonies and magnolias, old roses and grand Thomases, foxgloves and sweet Williams all burst forth, dazzling the crew and garden visitors with a spectacular show of spring color.
But one by one each variety began to fade and the dead flowers are removed. Open space at the end of a bed is often the only reminder of where great beauty once stood.
Three months ago, we pulled dozens of boxes of dahlia bulbs out of the basement and planted them in the beds near the garden gate. When the first dahlia burst into bloom in front of the garden shed, I noticed my heart began to ache.
It was with the dahlias that I began to meet every new bloom with a twist of sadness. Knowing that the petals would fall, the leaves would brown and the roots would shrivel felt like a burden too heavy to bear. By the time the dahlias were in bloom, I had witnessed dozens of varieties of flowers arise and eventually fall back into the earth. I felt heavy with the thought that every flower start or seed that we planted would eventually die, and this was coupled with a sense
of gloom that eventually made its way into my dreams.
My first dream about death in the garden was highlighted by my crying, "They're all leaving, they're all dying" as I walked between rows of flowers. I was comforted by Sukey, a former garden manager who responded warmly with: "They'll be back." I woke up feeling like I had just experienced a long cry.
My second dream was a few weeks later, and this time I was holding a bouquet of flowers, cropped to sell at farmers market. The message was the same: Each flower that blooms in this garden will fade no matter how much I care for it. Again I awoke with an aching heart.
Some time has passed since I had these dreams, and with some thought I have arrived at a new perspective. It is my sense that my life and its many adventures are as impermanent as the lives of the peonies and magnolias. However, when I indulge in my anxiety about the future, I seem to diminish my ability to fully appreciate every moment of my own life and the life of each bloom. I have begun applying this perspective to my apprenticeship at Green Gulch, which is quickly coming to an end. I am challenging myself to let go of the melancholy its impermanence and instead I am striving to be fully present each time I prune, mulch or slowly walk through the dahlia beds.
posted by jerlina at 8:46 AM
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