Gardening

I couldn't understand my parents, especially my father's, fascination with being out in the garden as I was growing up.  I thought of it as nothing more than another responsibility to keep things neat and clean in the neighborhood.  I couldn't stand going out and trimming the Mulberry tree each year, or weeding the whole flipping backyard for my sister's wedding.  I hated it.  

When my father started growing orchids I really started to despise the plant life that surrounded the house.  We had a large corner lot and it was my job, although I was paid for it, to mow a vast expanse of lawn (I used it as a mini pitch and putt when I was bored).  But it was the orchids that really pissed me off.  They started taking up the space on the side yard, covered in the intricate web of misters and shade cloth and slowly started to encroach on the rest of the outside.  My father worked with those damn plants so much you might of thought that he enjoyed them more than the rest of the family. 

I remember loosing the back porch as it became the poor-man's greenhouse.  I remember when he finally found, and purchased, an actual greenhouse.  I couldn't understand the mind-set.  I did not see the beauty.  I only saw the time and money that was "wasted" into something that was not me.  I was forever pissed off that my parents hadn't made a better life for me.  I felt entitled (to what I'm not sure) and I know that this came from the fact that I was the youngest and that my teenage years were spent in the house without a sibling (for the most part) and without much overt parental guidance.  I felt that everything should be showered on me.

When I left for college, far away from home (340 miles-so not that far), I left all of that behind.  I went to the big city and filled myself with the concrete and steel that make up the modern American metropolis.  But what always caught my eyes was the beauty of the trees, the gardens that were tended to with precision and care.  I understood that the garden was important to me however, I couldn't get over the idea of how gardening fit in to all of it.

When I first lived in Orange County, quite possibly one of the ugliest areas in all of the states, I couldn't help but notice the lack of trees, the conformity of the lawns, the conformity of the cinder block maze that lined every street.  Moving away was both a shock and joy because getting to Sacramento forced me into becoming an adult.  It made me realize how important having a garden was.  

Sacramento has a majestic beauty about.  Trees are everywhere.  The city does not believe in "too many trees".  The canopies eat the street and cool the temperature to tolerable amounts.  I had my first garden here.  It was a small rental house with an arbor and two wisterias that had gone out of control.  I learned here that the garden was the product but that the gardening was the reflection.  

Gardening is not about the effort, the work, the planning, it is about the peace that comes with working the soil, the time to realize that the beauty is more important then the sameness that life presents us with.  I've ripped out both the back and front yards at this house.  I did it by hand.  The only power tool I ever used was a chain saw to take out a tree.  I'm one of a small handful who doesn't have a swarm of mow and blow guys descend like hungry ants at the picnic on his house.  It is mine.  I made it.  I learned about it.  I learned from it.  I understand dad, I understand.