The Plant, the Leaf and the Garden

the story of a living system

It’s Saturday night, about 9pm and I am in bed. It was a glorious day. Warm and sunny which I made the most of by gardening and I mean I gardened a lot. 4 hours of weeding and tidying. It was bliss until my back hurt which is a sure sign of a good gardening session. I lie in bed curled up with two pups beside me. Eos is curved around my feet while pup is learning the rules of being on the bed. He can be on the bed but Eos wants her space. I am a barrier between the two of them, keeping the peace. I have that nice tired feeling of physical work and now my sleepy eyes are trying to read. I want to fill my cup with some words before I sleep. My reading of choice is a newly acquired The Plant magazine from my favourite online shop Garden Objects. I read an article called “everything is leaf”, which is an exploration into how communication is changing. How we always thought we humans are the only ones to communicate and how we are learning that plants and trees and microbes all chatter away. It is a humbling idea to know that we are not the only words who talk. It definitely make me think we should listen more.

“Plants superseded poetry as Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s obsession during a trip to Italy in the late 1700s. Found in his Italian journal, the statement ‘everything is leaf’ was a profound revelation; the leaf was meant, not as a singular entity but, as nature’s essentiality to bring forth multiple, diverse life-forms. We need to place ourselves within this living system and ask: how do we tell such a story?”

The Plant page 47

I love this idea. How do we tell the story of a natural space as part of it rather than controlling it? It made me look at the garden space that I was working in a different light. If I am recounting the story of my work in the garden I would normally comment on the work that was done. The weeds pulled out. The seed heads from last season that were trimmed back to the base. The trimming of the Feijoa who grows alone without a mate. I talk of it from my perspective. What I have done. But was has the garden done? What is the garden doing? What stories does it tell me as I work away?

The flower bed I spent time with tells the stories of generations. Of the little seedlings from the hellebore that I planted last year that have started to sprout near their parent plant. I look at them at ground level. They would go unnoticed as you walked past. They are small and yet standing together some are taller than others, varied in size. I wonder which ones will make it to full plants. What they will look like when they flower. Hellebores never stay true to their parents. They become something else. There is the story of the new poppies that will grow alone, their parent plant a dried husk of a seed head that I effortless pull from the soil. These seedlings are different. They splay out. Finger like leaves stretch out from the root centre that is fragile and easily knocked by my clumsy hands as I weed. I wonder again what variety they will grow into and how often they will return to this bed as flower then seed. It is a life cycle that I will happily continue to watch over the seasons to come.

There is the story of the dahlias tubers hidden under the soil, reveal nothing while the echinops, they are starting to show green growth. They have expanded and I find little plants, a year on from when the seed first hit the soil. It is a small story of success. The sage tells a story of aging. Its woody branches, I trim back, a reflection of its life span. I will replace them soon I think. I remember how last season I loved how the peach pink dahlias looked against the silver grey green of the sage leaf. It is a colour scheme I want to continue in the garden. As reflect I know there are more stories to come and I hope I can take the time over the coming spring and summer to observe and listen to them. Perhaps I can listen better and make myself less of the focus of the story. As sleep curls around my eyes that flicker opened then closed, I think that will be my wish as we enter September. To become part of the garden as a living system and not the director of it.