PART ONE:
I've been thinking about relationships a lot this week. What it means to be in one. What it means to keep one healthy. What it means to fight for one or let one go. What it means to be respected in one.
And as I stood over my 5 x 12 plot this morning contemplating a gardening dilemma I have (more on that later) - exhausted and spent from another night pacing the loft arguing with myself over some things - it suddenly became clear to me that not only am I "in relationship" with my garden, I'm "in" a relationship with my garden, too. And while those are related, they are not the same.
The garden and I most definitely have a relationship. I nourish it. It, in turn, nourishes me. The most basic of needs met for a partnership, no?
Years ago, I asked my father how he'd managed to keep a healthy relationship with my mother. It wasn't like I never witnessed arguing or strain between them or even once what came close in my tattered childhood memory to a real separation. But in the end they always chose love and commitment and the work that entailed. He was driving, I remember, and he told me that the whole notion of relationships being 50/50 was a lie. My father told me that in real life relationships are always 60/40. He said, "Sometimes you are giving 60% and sometimes you are getting 60%". And that made sense to me, somehow.
In practical terms, I can see where the garden can be a guide to a healthy relationship. Certainly the 60/40 rule applies. There are times in the season, like now, when the garden has finished producing for me. And it's my turn. It's my turn to buy seeds, start seeds, plant seeds. It's my turn to amend the soil with back breaking work and create a fertile ground. Stand my ground maybe? I will give my 60% now, in order for the garden to give its 60% in a few months when it will be bountiful again with beets, carrots, radishes, fava beans, peas. With maybe a minimal 40% effort on my part to water, the garden will hold up its end of our 60/40 relationship in the form of food and flowers for me.
And as I stood over my gardening dilemma this morning (we'll get to that shortly), I thought about other ways in which my garden and I surprisingly reflected the human relationships I'm in or not in I suppose.
SPACE: Every gardener knows that most plants need space to flourish. There is that moment in the growing process, and in a relationship, where you have to trust that giving the plant some space - which can mean making some hard, painful, or scary choices in the short run - like pruning or culling - is the best thing for a healthy and fruitful long run. Now, some plants, like people, can do with a bit more crowding than others, but most plants definitely need their space. And if you try to crowd them, they can't realize their full potential. I've been guilty of this, I think. I may have been too exhilarated about a relationship that I crowded my partner, not even realizing that had I given him the space he required, it would have also allowed me the the space I needed to grow, as well.
On the other hand, most plants can't grow completely alone. Sure, there is the occasional Joshua Tree (great U2 album, buy it) or cactus seemingly sitting alone, miles from another cactus as you drive through the desert. But, most plants don't thrive in that kind of environment. Ultimately, plants (and people, no matter what they might say) need companionship. Sometimes it's because they actually can reach greater heights together by leaning on one another and sometimes it's simply that to bear fruit, to create if you will, they need to be pollinated by their fellow plants. And all the bees in the world can't help the plant if there isn't another one of its kind somewhere nearby.
This all seems true of a relationship, too. Each person in the partnership has their own needs in this regard - how much "space" they need to flourish as an individual and as part of the garden. But, ultimately, they do need one another and will thrive in the larger picture of both their lives and the relationship because they have each other. I find that comforting.
REST: A garden, like a relationship, needs at times to rest from its frantic pace, sit squarely in some stillness to recover and evaluate. To take a break from being "in" a relationship to just being "in relationship" with the gardener. And the gardener gets to rest, too. Although it doesn't mean that either one of them has "checked out" or that something becomes stagnant. The garden, with its spent growth heating up under a lot of mulch simply changes gears. It gets to break down old matter, process it, clean it up. It can heal itself with some rest and reflection. If the garden (or we) gets the chance to properly say goodbye to the old, to honor it, process it, and send it off as rich matter that will support the future, then the garden (and a relationship in the present) can grow and be healthy. If the old, depleted soil or beliefs or attachments remain for too long - stealing nourishment and taking up space in soil or heart - then the new harvest won't stand a chance. Garden and Gardener are simply stuck trying to grow something new where the old has taken root, but no longer bears fruit or simply impedes what new could come.
To be prepared for a future growth we sometimes need to lay fallow, honor the past seasons, and repair in order for our garden to be ready and healthy for the possible new growth. And the gardener, who has been off evaluating her own successes and missteps of the last season, making notes about what worked and didn't, what needs more attention or space can come back both renewed and more aware of what needs to be tended to in the garden.
PART TWO: the garden dilemma, to be continued....
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