I’m not showing you the whole garden. I’m showing you one peach because all around it looks to me like A MESS. The plants just keep growing. And blooming. I’ve had peas since July 1 and they are STILL coming. A month of peas? Isn’t that surreal? Let’s not mention the other vegetables and fruits… the darn flowers.
When I bought this property in 1988, I focussed on this 1890’s boathouse that I loved. Secondarily, there was this equally old bunk house next to it for the guys back then to sleep overnight rather than climb the hill to home (not on my property) after a day of fishing and likely enjoying a drink or two. In addition, there was a more recent garage added near the public road so that the former owners didn’t need to descend down the steep driveway in winter storms. AND something I didn’t pay attention to … there was a not-so-small garden with peach and pear and apple trees and raspberries. And a lawn to mow.
Okay, so I used my push lawn mower today to at least deal with the lawn. And I munched on some peas and raspberries. And admired the pears that are coming along. But the place looks like a total jungle. In other years, I would spend hours daily attempting to maintain a semblance of order. But this year, there has been so much rain AND so much travel time AND… more focus on my art.
I love my garden. I love it as an art form as well. It’s metamorphosing right before my eyes. I have this idea of how it should look – how, in past years, I’ve edited what grows. This year – no editing. Wildness. It’s different.
Is it worse? Is it okay? Can I see it differently than what I’ve expected in the past. Can I allow change?
And how much does the permission I grant to my garden reflect the permission I grant myself to see my art, my “indoor” art grow wild and change?