Photography : Insect Warming
Photography : Insect Warming
“If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need”.
September 30, 2018, France
That’s an old tale : watch inside a home, or even a bedroom, and you’ll guess a lot about the owner.
Then the contrary : hear the “judge” know-it-alling about it, and you’ll guess a lot about his mind…
- If it’s a mess, you too much easily could tell about a messy brain – maybe the owner’s mind is not completely orderly. Maybe he suffers, or maybe he’s a genius artist, maybe he’s silly. See? You can say everything thus nothing, in fact.
- If the bed’s done like a funeral one, and the pajamas are perfectly daily folded on “this” chair (and not another one), THEN you can tell…
Today with you, my reader, let’s gossip the same way about a garden.
When I think about a garden, I think about peace and silence, butterflies and dragonflies, about the grass I could walk on post commuting evenings. I think flowers, curiosity, trying to plant and take care about unknown species, watering, welcoming birds, combining these green/colored friends together for harmony, I think breathing little winds and smelling roses (and the earth, the soil).
Soil Festivities is the title of a great album of Vangelis.
Then I hear some people about their garden. All they talk about is invasion of spiders and nasty caterpillars, chaos to be contained, trimming everything around and cutting/pruning trees. Everything’s a enemy. They want order, taming, obedience, snapping scissors on short grass.
Tonight I realized they maybe want to repair, to fix, to contain nature, instead of repairing, fixing, containing events of their now life or past life, probably… right?
(Crummy psychology, I know. I’m sorry. I wish I had a garden to wander in. I’m jealous, that’s it!)
Today I took this picture. I offer it to you. Thank you for reading!
All roses are open to the elements. They bud, bloom and fade. The rose grows entirely unaware, changing naturally from one state to another, and although the elements may treat her cruelly, she knows nothing of it and continues to her end without judgment on her beauty. Alas, it is not the same for us. If such a rose could speak, she would say: “Yes, I am here, and gave service under nature’s eye. And after me my children will be. Is there any greater contribution or more graceful end? The protection that the gardener can afford this rose from the harsh elements of change is patience, care and a little warmth from the sun”.
A Little Chaos
This summer I watched and visited some gardens. I talked with owners. I tried to find my entrance : flowers, grass, trees & garden, maintenance, house & garden, proportions, harmony…
I came to this : a garden looks like the gardener’s spirit. It can be crazy, or multifaceted, or free, or clean, ordered, surprising, eccentric…
If your mind tends towards order, your life as a gardener becomes a fight, a struggle, a taming game.
Because your house is smooth and clean, but nature is growing, inventing, nature is funny, blossoming, changing. The garden lives, invites the sun, the trees, the leaves and the feathers, nature moves, casts shadows, and will always win…
So what? If I had a garden, I imagine I would consider my work as a dance with the forces I’m seeing. Offer flowers to the bees, shelters and water to the birds, some wild free places for the little ones like ladybugs and grasshoppers. Some pruning, but not to much. Tame it a little, the necessary only. Let it breathe in the wind…
In the end, rosebud throws up its little arms, right?
Thanks for reading!
Can gardening be seen as finding the balance between men’s order and nature’s unquenchable creativity?