Many years ago, a friend told me a story about an old priest he used to work with. As they were doing something in the fields, a flock of geese flew over, headed north. The old man looked up at the sky and uttered the most sincere "Thank God." this friend had ever heard. I asked if he was grateful that it meant spring was coming. "No," said my friend patiently, "he said 'Thank God' that there still WERE geese."
I feel that way a lot these days, and having been blessed with a relatively colorful life that has landed me in living places far less lush than the farm I now inhabit, I have quite the perspective on the green thread that stretches so thin sometimes.
We're having a very blessed fall this year. The frosts came gently, taking the gardens down a wave at a time, followed by soft, sunny November days when it's been a pleasure to work outdoors. Around me the very last dandelions in bloom in the lawns are looking up at the sun much like I do and thinking to themselves that this is so very pleasant, for as long as it lasts.
In years past, I remember seeing dandelions clinging to their existence at the edge of a sidewalk in Yonkers and again, they looked much like me. It makes me grateful for where I am these days, and grateful that once I was there with all those tired dandelions and beat-up sidewalks which makes what I have now even more glorious.
I remember when I was head gardener for the PepsiCo Sculpture Gardens in Purchase, NY. I was working in a magical garden inhabited by 1500 white foxgloves in the woods. From there I watched dozens and dozens and dozens of people who worked there marching past and never looking over at them. I wondered if they even knew they were here. But no one misses the purple loostrife along the highway when it starts to bloom. I have this feeling if we could scan everyone's head, the vast majority of folks would have the image of Phragmites with its huge silvery plumes back-lit by the sun in there somewhere.
There is such an outcry about needing to REMOVE the Ailanthus trees that crop up everywhere. But tell me: just what ELSE is going to grow on the dusty cliffs above the railroad tracks in the Bronx? We've created places where only the cockroaches of the plant world can live. And frankly, I'm really glad they don't give up on us. How many trees have come down so utility poles can go up? And what are the only things capable of taking a dead utility pole and turning it into a living thing? Bittersweet. Poison Ivy. Virginia creeper. Wisteria. And bless them all, they keep trying.
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