Digging in the Dirt
A visit to my garden and you’ll see it’s the object of love, born of mismatched objects small and large that have found a home together in the dirt. I never wanted to impose a unified design upon the garden, assembled all in one go. I wanted something more organic, for it to unfold over time. I wanted it to tell ME how it should look. It’s a living thing, after all.
Change in the garden is always dictated by the element of chance, and how it appears today is a direct result of the unpredictability of what I find when I walk down the street, and a quick decision about whether or not it belongs at home. A pile of discarded cobblestones becomes a garden pathway. Put another way, there wouldn’t be a garden pathway if it weren’t for the cobblestones someone gave up. A set of old spoons inspired a wind-chime. And, some empty wine bottles became a snaking border, echoing and inspired by the (now huge) jasmine plant, which has stretched in an equally snakelike way over the fence and now has a glassy green counterpart on the ground.
There have been many gardens since I started digging four years ago, and there will be many more. I love the idea of letting go, waiting for cues, surrendering to chance. The outward face of the garden will grow and evolve and it’s a metaphor for life, really. Because the garden is a living, sentient thing change is healthy and good. That’s how I know it’s alive. Letting go is, at the same time, embracing the unknowable with trust that the unseen, intrinsic spirit of a living thing always remains constant.