I live in a house that was built in 1942. The botanist who lived here designed the landscaping, and it’s apparent that everything was well thought out. There are a variety of fruit trees, roses, rhododendrons, grapes, and lilies—oh, and blackberries. Now blackberries are delicious, but when you live in the Pacific Northwest, they’re considered more of an aggressive and aggravating epiphyte than a fruit-bearing plant.
As I mentioned, the house was built in 1942. I assume the landscaping was done about the same time. I moved into the house in 2004. Looking at the blackberry infestation at the time, I guessed that the 1.5 acres that make up the lot had been utterly neglected for about thirty years. (My neighbors validated my guess.)
Over the course of twelve months, my partner and I single-handedly trimmed rhododendrons, trees, shrubs, and rose bushes. We waged war on blackberries that had achieved impressively large stalks—some of them two and three inches in diameter, with viciously sharp shoots that measured thirty to forty feet in length. During this reclamation, we discovered items that were completely invisible due to the hostile blackberry takeover. These items included a twenty-foot sidewalk, a fence, a large pickle barrel planter full of peonies, two plum trees, an apple tree, a very exotic looking tree (which I still haven’t identified), two hydrangeas, and a rose bush. We hauled away five dump truck loads of debris.
Once this major work was complete, we began attending to some of the finer details, including raking, and providing new soil and grass seed. I was amazed to see three more rose bushes magically sprout from the ground—all producing the most exquisitely colored flowers. Plants that looked rugged and tired were once again producing foliage and blooming brightly. With the blackberries finally in check, we were actually able to enjoy the huge sweet berries that were produced. It was exciting to see Japanese pears hanging perfect and round from their branches. In the fall, we discovered we had three different varieties of apples, and the Bartlett pear tree produced more fruit than we could manage.
The difficult work on this property is done. Now, instead of dump trucks, large pruning shears, and blackberry cuts, I’m able to enjoy more relaxing work in the yard. I often find myself drawn to this type of work whenever I’m feeling particularly stressed or overwhelmed with all the activities of daily life. Spending an hour or two pulling up weeds, and inspecting the growth of the roses has a very calming effect. For a couple hours, I can completely submerge myself in the activity at hand and daydream a little. All the while, I’m strangely aware that the connection I make with the earth is grounding and satisfying. The earth and I work together. I’m not fighting traffic, or crowds, or schedules. I’m not worrying about the next thing I have to do, and where I’ll find the time.
One morning, while adjusting the sprinkler in the rose bed, I saw a hummingbird start to follow the arc of the water; back and forth, and back and forth. I was fascinated with this behavior, as I had no idea what it was doing. Back and forth it went, staying perfectly inside the spray of the water. Next, I watched it land on a wet rose leaf, where it proceeded to bathe itself by rubbing its tiny body across the wet leaf. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, I’ve watched a lot of Discovery Channel programs, but this was amazing.
After its bath in the rosebush, this little creature flew up to a branch on the lilac tree and preened and flap-dried its wings for fifteen minutes. Then, I saw its mate fly by, and off the two of them left. This captivating little event probably lasted about twenty-five minutes. But it was twenty-five minutes of my life where my mind slowed down. I was fully present in the moment, and completely focused on a little creature happy to call my garden its home. That week I told everyone I knew about the hummingbird bath. Every time I told the story, my heart lightened a little. I felt grateful for those twenty-five minutes in my garden, focused and watching with childlike wonderment, a bird in a bath.
Photo courtesy of Travis Haney
