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by Richard GilbertI n the growing season of 1870,th e editor of The HartfordCourant set out to chronicle forhis readers the delights of gardening. In My Summer in a Garden,published that fall, CharlesDudley Warner argued thatone who. plants a garden isdoomed to suffer, and lose,in th e ).wrelenting fightagainst weeds, bugs, andfrost. He was humorouslyundercutting romanticnotions of nature, of recreating one's own Eden,planting vine and fig tree,yet clearly he hoped for amore elemental relationshipwith the earth. "By gardening," he wrote, "I do notmean that insane desire toraise vegetables which somehave; bu t the philosophicaloccupation of contact withthe earth .... In a half anhour I can hoe myself rightaway from this world, as wecommonly see it , into alarge place, where there areno obstacles."

Many people take forgranted today that growingone's own vegetables doesnot "pay." But Warner hadto contend with such mercenary questions. He bristled. "AsI look at it, you might as well ask,Does a sunset pay? In a certainsense, it is a sort of profanation toconsider if my garden pays, or tose t a money value upon mydelight in it .... What! shall I set aprice upon the tender asparagus orthe crisp lettuce, which made theOrion Summer 1994

EDITORIALGARDENING AND BEING

sweet spring a realiry?"Gardening has brought me

into a vivid relation with nature.My fellow gardeners and I knowwhen the weather truly has beenwet, and when it has been dangerously dry. We notice when our

prevailing southwest wind bringsa change in the weather, when itswings to the northwest, or-heaven forbid-attacks from theeast. Indeed, as one who earns aliving at a desk, gardening has pu tmy feet back on the real ground.

Seven springs ago, my wifeand I planted 300 evergreens in a

field we had just purchased. Oureight acres, part of a forty-acrefarm being broken up , had beenmined for corn and soybeans andwinter wheat. The farmer whorented the land had used herbicides to avoid tilling or weeding.

There was not a tree or awelcome blade of grass onthe place. Our plot wassimilar to countless ra wtracts in suburbs acrossAmerica. That first springour infant daughter accompanied us in a blue backpack as we slowly plantedrows of pines; our Labradorretriever bounded across thetender ground followingcountry smells. Those treesbarely show up in the earlies t photographs of ourland. The red pines wereabout a foot tall, and theVirginia pines were barelysix inches.

Year after year, we keptplanting-hundreds moretrees and shrubs; we fencedand dug a pond. Havingdefined the edges of th eland, we built a house andbegan to move the plantingscloser, a green embrace forou r household. I considerthese eight acres ou r garden,not just the boxed vegetablebeds, bu t also the pines smelling

like gin and the meadow whereth e deer bed down. Our gardenincludes the juneberries bloomingnear the front door, the red-leavedplum waving in the breeze of f thescreened porch, and the lusty mulberry down by the henhouse. Thisspring our daughter, Claire, is a

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"big second grader," as she says,with a little brother to entertain;we buried Tess- the Labradorwho had supervised our firstplantings-beside th e pond sheloved, with a clump of daffodilsfor a marker; and the pines, someof them fourteen feet tall, arebeginning to shelter our house.Even the smallest garden-awindowbox or a salad patch besidethe back door-is a mirror and awindow. My failures on our eightacres have taught me more than Icould have imagined. Energy,planning, and determination arenot enough to make a natural system bend to one's will. Devastatedby some crop disaster or ailmentamong the chickens, I have wondered what would have happenedhad all my plans come true. If disease or weather had not thwartedmy schemes, would I have takenmy triumph for granted, recognizing it as my just reward? Would Ithink of myself as nature's master?These lessons in humility musthave been learned by all farmersthrough the ages. With my essentially suburban background, theywere surprises to me.I am more tentative thesedays. I realize that nature willmake th e final call. But I stillaspire to create a generous landscape, one midway between thesuburbs of my boyhood andwilderness. When all is said anddone, I seek an Edenic landscape.To me, such a garden is definedby hardy plantings that are fruitful even without a regimen oftoxic sprays. Such a gardenrewards husbandry without making of me an agribusiness slave.Such a garden welcomes the bluebird as well as foraging humans. Iremember feeling that a bountyof earthworms would indicate wewere beginning to heal our land,to move in tune with a powerfulcycle that had been interrupted.By mulching with manure from anearby stable, we encourageearthworms, which aerate and

fertilize th e soil and are handywhen we want to slip away to thepond to fish. There is a great difference between paying a baitshop for worms and digging themin your garden. A family withworms in their ow n dungheapfeels rich indeed.

Charles Dudley Warner knewthat gardeners are dreamersinvolved in a spiritual activity. Ashe wrote, 124 years ago, "To owna bi t of ground, to scratch it witha hoe, to plant seeds and watchtheir renewal of life,-this is thecommonest delight of the race ....To dig in the mellow soil- to digmoderately, for all pleasure shouldbe taken sparingly-is a greatthing .... Hoe while it is spring,and enjoy the best anticipations. Itis no t much matter if things donot turn ou t well."

Like many members of mygeneration, I am a lapsed runner, ahunter-gatherer with precious littleto hunt or to gather along suburban streets. Now I garden. At last Igarden, I should say. Like manyAmericans, my wife and I havemoved around a good deal, separately and then together. Finally,thankfully, we settled down. Foranyone who truly settles down, cana garden be far behind? Richard Gilbert lives with his wiftand two children in Bloomington,Indiana, where he is a writer forIndiana University and contributesa gardening column to the localnewspaper.

Forthcoming Future issues of Orion willinclude special sections thatexplore: the city oceans travel spiritual roots

ORIONVolume 13, Number 3 Summer 1994

PublisherM.G.H. GilliamEditor-in-ChiefGeorge K. RussellLiterary faitor

Emily HiestandManaging Editor

H. Emerson BlakePicture faitor

Christina RahrPoetry Editors

Emily HiestandChristopher Merrill

Editorial AssistantJennifer Sahn

DesignJulie Koch-Beinke

Lynn SchererAlternatives Design

Production AssistantGladys Lai

CirculationElsie Ennis

Editorial BoardRobin Bell Kenneth R. Margolis

H. Emerson Blake Aina NiemelaM.G.H. Gilliam Christopher NycEmily Hiestand George K. Russell

Patricia Kelly Peter SauerLauric Lane-Zucker Edward C. Wolf

Editorial Advisory BoardJohn H. Adams William MoomawW. Howard Adams Gary Paul NabhanSpencer B. Beebe James D. Natio n

Wendell Berry Richard NelsonNina Leopold Bradley Francis Oakley

Jason Clay David OrrJohn Elder Sumner Pingree

Robert Finch Chet RaymoDana Jackson Scot t Russell SandersNan Jenks-Jay John Tallmadge

Alison Jolly T. H. WatkinsFrances Moore Lappe E. 0 . Wilson

Barry Lopez Arthur ZajoncScott McVay Ann Zwingcr

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