Hawthorn Hill Journal by Richard deRosa
Exploring Gardening as Art
When I started gardening, I would assiduously draw up plans. That is what the gardening books I checked out recommended. All very interesting. None spoke to me. No matter how hard I tried, I could never translate what I had committed to paper into reality. A contrarian spirit would always take charge of me the minute I set foot in the garden. All that space to mess around with. Too alluring an invitation to break rules. I am not much of a rule breaker, but put me in an empty garden and ignoring precedent comes quite naturally.
Perhaps I would make a fine Supreme Court judge. Conventional gardening wisdom argues against planting certain plants next to one another. I have never given such things a thought and my yields on the whole have been quite ample enough for our needs. If I were a farmer and not a gardener, I might pay attention to such advice. Since I am not that ordered and disciplined in the conduct of my daily life, much as I have tried, my gardens are a reflection of my haphazard approach to getting through time generally. Just check out my study and you’ll see what I mean.
I find the closeness of clutter comforting. Were it up to me, pots and pans would be hanging from hooks over the kitchen island. I like things out in the open, not hidden in pantry closets. My taste for the unruly finds expression in my vegetable gardens. Being clearly not in charge of our kitchen’s public demeanor, I get to let loose in the garden.
As soon as things start popping up and the character of the garden reveals itself, I hear the same refrain from the love of my life: “You’ve created another jungle.” I hate wasted space.
If I see an empty spot, I fill it. So what if it is impossible to get to the lone zucchini in the corner (which, by the way, I had to sneak in after being told NOT to plant any) without bushwhacking my way through the bushy, overbearing haricots verts overshadowing a row of lettuce, itself shadowed and obscured by another row of beans. The virtue of such close planting is the virtual absence of weeds. Not to mention the tomato plants behind one bed not only blocking the path to the zucchini but growing through the fence and onto the blueberry and rose bushes that line the back fence. These two tomatoes were never supposed to be planted. I just could not bear to toss them after they worked so hard to make a life for themselves. Actually, I have no idea what variety they are; tags missing.
A few days ago, while checking on the garden after the night’s welcome rainfall, I discovered a short row of carrots growing side by side with some long season beets. I have only a very vague recollection of sowing carrot seed there. Yet, there they are, now availing themselves of enough sunlight to recharge their batteries. Carrot seed germination this year has been abysmal. I replanted several times, all to no avail. Friends have reported similar results. Things might be looking up, though. In one bed, arugula, cilantro, and chard are planted so close together that—while showing Sandy where to harvest the arugula she wanted—I saw ferny carrot tops sticking up between the cilantro and arugula. Lo and behold, another row of carrots I had forgotten about. Not sure how they will do, but it is all part and parcel of my garden aesthetic, which is to fill every available space with something.
I believe that all plants prefer living in closely-knit communities. The itinerant tomatoes I planted were invigorated by their proximity to the blueberry and rose bushes they latched onto. A spare cucumber plant I stuck in next to the asparagus bed has hooked itself up with a few asparagus stalks, several daylilies and a beautiful yellow rudbeckia. All appear to be doing quite well.
Gardening by whim has stood me in good stead. I guess if winning some award for garden design appealed to me, I might go about things differently. Curmudgeon that I am, I disapprove of awards generally, so who cares. Every person’s garden is his own private preserve, his canvas to fill however he pleases. It is not a public statement, nor should it ever be. That is what botanical gardens are for.
I always look forward to Sandy saying, “Well, you’ve done it again, another jungle.” Hard to get to a lot of stuff, but it’s worth the effort. Besides, every artist has his signature informing principle. However, what works for a gardening iconoclast like me does not extrapolate to the management of government. Good governance requires policies rooted in thoughtful designs informed by impeccable character. Neither of these ingredients seems at play or even valued these days.
In his journal, Thoreau writes: “How can we expect a harvest of thought who have not had a seed-time of character?” Perhaps we will return to a time when thought and character matter again. I hope I am around to see it.
Dick deRosa’s Hawthorn Hill essays have appeared in “The Freeman’s Journal” since 1998. A collection, “Hawthorn Hill Journal: Selected Essays,” was published in 2012. He is a retired English teacher.
