What Does Summer Bring Me?
For me, summer is about the plants—the wild beauty of mountain slopes with foxglove and bracken ferns. But summer is more than that. We didn’t go on a trip this year, but we still enjoyed the summer, although it was different than usual. The scaffolding around the house made it hard to sit outside, so we stayed inside more. Summer usually means being outside, feeling the sun on your skin, and wearing light summer clothes. The most summery thing I wore this year was my sandals with wedges. I even took a short walk, and it went fine.
But what really brings me the feeling of summer? The question now is: what tells me that summer is ending? Because that’s where we are now. The weather was beautiful, around 20 degrees. Kids played outside without coats, and the moms were cheerful and friendly. In the garden, I see the end of summer in the asters blooming and the tall grasses taking up more space. I didn’t have to weed much; the garden grew into a lush oasis.
The robust growth and resilience of the plants serve as a reminder of abundance, not just for them, but for us as well. They adapt to the challenges of the scaffolding and the dust, growing more leaves and bending stems, yet still reaching for the light. They don’t complain. In contrast, we often see sadness or stress in people's eyes when things don’t go as planned. But these plants, they adjust and thrive (or die and disappear), a testament to nature's resilience and adaptability.
Soon, the scaffolding will be gone, and there will be bare ground left where plants used to be. Of course, I can buy new plants, that’s not a big problem. But if we were to move—there’s a chance that we might have to move—I would almost want to take the plants with me. Still, that wouldn’t be a good idea. They have invested their energy here, in this place. The plants would probably be better off staying if a new gardener moves into this house.
Creating a garden is a journey that demands patience. It takes at least three years to achieve a semblance of balance and about ten years for everything to settle. The process of choosing plants was meticulous for me: not too many types, everything well-spread, and ensuring they supported each other. We had help from Jimmy, who used his machines to plough the borders, a necessary step to prevent other plants from taking over before the new ones had time to establish themselves. It's a process that requires at least a year to settle in. But the satisfaction of achieving balance and harmony is worth the wait.
This year, I pulled out the bindweed and ambrosia, along with some fireweed, because they grow too fast and disturb the delicate balance of the garden. I removed brambles at the neighbour’s house because they made the garden too wild and rugged to access. Really, you have to keep up with that every month because once brambles have taken root, they’re stubborn. But for the birds, they’re great—a safe place and a food source, and insects love them too. So, it depends on your point of view whether a plant belongs in your garden or not.
People want more and more eco-gardens these days. They leave wood and logs around, don’t use pesticides, and even keep nettles for butterflies. But even this eco-approach is a human choice. If you really leave everything to nature, your garden might turn into a dark wilderness where it’s hard to enjoy the space. That’s why we have gardens: to surround ourselves with a piece of nature where we feel at peace, where the human and natural worlds meet in harmony, bringing us peace and joy.
Gardening as philosopy