A Good Cold in the Garden

 Ah, to hibernate. If only one could. For gardeners and nature enthusiasts, winter is often associated with dormancy, hibernation, torpor (okay, holiday food coma), and rest. Humans, on the other hand or paw or tiny green shoot, aren't always gifted in respect to  these natural rhythms in our daily lives. Holiday demands, expectations, and transitions serve to shake things up, enliven us, and then sometimes leave us flattened and tired instead of restful or renewed. We can only hold the light and heat of the Yule log for so long until it loses its brightness and warmth, dumping us into a cold, wet, and gray January. 

It's only the tenth day of the year and I've made more progress toward my New Year's Resolution than I have previously: my goal is to finish my unfinished projects. This means hemming a couple pairs of pants, having another one tailored; sorting through upteen boxes and letting things go from the house, no matter what their value. This also means working on writing and art ventures and of course, some gardening goals. I've planned to build an archway of windfall sticks to train the jasmine on, and only really need a good windstorm and some concrete-- and for the ground to warm up a bit. 

This season has been fraught with unusually bumpy emotional stuff, and while we are all a bit stressed and strained, I am being thoughtful in re-building some structure for our family. Sometimes as parents (or spouses, maybe) we have to be like fisherman and let out a lot of line if we want to keep our kids attached, so we at least have a possibility of being able to reel them back in. They tug and fight at it, and the current doesn't usually work in our favor, and it's a lot, emotionally, to stay solid and not sink the boat with all the fuss. 

So, after a busy morning of housework and coaching, I went out into the dry afternoon for a bit of time in the garden. It was no great shakes out there, let me tell you-- even the cats eschewed the opportunities to go out today. Yet, standing in front of a bunch of dead passionflower and honeysuckle vines with a pair of clippers in my hand felt wonderful. Taking my time, examining the long strands for any signs of life, a few budding leaves, a few compact green nodes... pruning has taken on more significance in my life in the time since I last posted. 

Pruning is optimally always done for the health of the plant; cutting off older parts, those that put a strain on the plant and pull it's energy into maintaining it instead of directing it to new growth. Good pruning requires finding the balance, supporting a natural and pleasing shape and good development. In life, it's the same for humans: as we prune our pasttimes, relationships, and ideas from our lives, it leaves room for new things, new growth. Sometimes the pruning is hard, down to the ground, nothing to be saved. Some things or people or plans are excised altogether, dug out from the ground tenaciously lest the root persist and the trouble begin anew.


Sometimes, it is our old beliefs that need clearing out, reexamining. Sometimes, cutting out behaviors that are motivated from guilt or avoidance or codependency is hard for those around us, especially when being honest with oneself makes things harder or different in our relationships. Finding the ideal line in the middle, the healthy equator between beings, if you will, is hard but worth the work. When you find those lines to be strong, nurture that thing even more for its strength and what you put into it comes back to you. Often, it pays itself forward in some unpredictable ways. 

Last summer, I propped a ladder up on a fence, swallowed my vertigo, and spent hours and many yard debris bags pruning the back side of our neighbor's clematis, which has grown over into our fence. I wanted to get the greenery and vines up off the wood and open up the space, so that moisture and rot wouldn't damage both our fence and the pergola the vines hold in their suffocating green embrace. We didn't expect such a harsh winter, but now the wind can move through that structure instead of pushing it over and the wood can dry faster. Left with a scraggly appearance after getting a good going-over last September, it has now grown in nicely. During that time, I also liberated a camellia, whose position made it near impossible for the homeowner to trim back the clematis. It does good for our three properties and keeps the fence/kitty+squirrel railroad going smoothly. 


It's been a long time since my last post... sometimes, silence is a good thing. It gives us space, air to breathe and think in. I like the outdoors for the same reason, and worked until my thumbs were cold and stiff, until the neighbor's excitable dog streaked out to the fence, barking a frantic combination of 'welcome! my property!' and I let his human know to just let him bark and stay out there, I was going inside anyway. I was feeling very satisfied and the pup had only had but a moment.... 


It's good to know when to stop, too.  When it's as good as it's going to get. May you get as good as you give this year, and may it be a year of thoughtful choices and growth for us all.