Most of the time, gardening is about physical work. And, like your day job, some tasks are more enjoyable than others—after spending two evenings at it, I can definitely say definitely say pulling out St. John’s-wort is not something I enjoy.
But while I feel if I’m out in the garden I should be doing something, I’m making a conscious effort to stop and just observe every once in a while, to do a walkabout of my garden to see what’s new, what’s changed, and what’s disappeared. Sure it’s cliché, but the fleetingness of nature adds a dimension to its sense of beauty.
Knowing that flowers will wither, wilt, and die in a few days or weeks makes the moments that they bud and bloom even more special. When I first noticed my veggies and sunflowers had sprouted, the sense of gratification put a smile on my face.
Taking time to reflect on nature’s magic is something that really struck me during our visit to Japan last spring. Tokyo is one of the most frenetic, futurist metropolises in the world—the metro, Akihabara (Electric Town), the ubiquitous vending machines that sell most anything. Even late on a Sunday night, the streets were alive. Yet, within the hustle and bustle, we saw people stopping to admire a blooming cherry tree in the middle of the day. These weren’t cursory glances. People—young and old—would pause for several minutes to marvel at the delicate pink blossoms. Tomorrow, this tree may not look the same.
I found myself marveling at nature this weekend. I was looking at the mock orange shrub I wrote about last time to see if the ladybug nymphs were still around. Much to my surprise, I saw more of them and they were a lot bigger. Instead of looking like teeny black alligators, many now had two bright red stripes on their alligator backs. Then I spotted one that looked like it was transforming into a ladybug – it had a soft, matte ladybug-like that was a pale orange. I was so excited about the changes to the nymphs that I had to show my boyfriend. By the time I showed him the transforming critter, its shell had become a much brighter orangey red. I noticed a few others were in the transformation process too.
After doing some online research, I learned that the larvae weren’t becoming adult ladybugs just yet—they were transforming into pupae, which happens after three to six weeks. Pupae look like adult ladybugs, but their bodies are softer and they have tiny, pad-like wings. Apparently they will continue to grow and eventually shed their pupae bodies, becoming adult ladybugs.
In the last three months, I have learned a lot about gardening and there’s so much more that I want and need to learn. But what I’ve learned through this journey so far is not just about plants, soil, and tools. It’s about how the simple, recurring things in nature are still amazing despite the dizzying changes that characterize 21st century life, and remembering to savour them while we can.
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