Gardening in the Desert: A Meditation

After living in the South for 58 years, I'm discovering a whole new world in the desert. The dry environment is both unforgiving and breathtakingly beautiful, and I'm only beginning to learn about its nature and how to care for it. That's why I was thrilled when a friend who's a horticulturist came for a visit last month. She intimately knows plants, and understands what will grow and flourish in our arid soil. She sees potential. She also sees the invasive species that have taken root there that will limit that potential. Removing the weeds — the plants that aren't beneficial to the ecosystem — is just as important as planting what will thrive. 

As my friend and I walked around the yard, overgrown tendrils of sticky Russian Thistle (aka tumbleweed) grasped at our legs. She pushed past the villains to show me the heroes in the yard that I had overlooked. The small purple Four O'Clocks and the chocolate flower, the geraniums and showy sunflower all came into focus as the distracting, tangle of opportunist growth fell away. 

I scrawled notes in a spiral binder as my friend ticked through her prognosis: Cut down the dead growth to allow the healthy foliage to use the plant's energy. Uproot the invasive plants. Clear the way for good growth. Make the most of what you have. "No need to purchase a lot of new plants from the nursery," she instructed, "Transplant!" Allow sun-loving flora to have their rightful spot. Give shade to tender plants who require gentle light. Let nature be nature by understanding what each distinct plant wants and needs. 

Slowly, I began to realize that our overgrown yard was filled with treasures that I didn't previously appreciate. 

After my friend left, I gingerly walked outside and peered across the overgrown yard. It seemed a bit overwhelming. I sighed. Where to start? The answer came: 

Start where you are, with what is right before you. Right at your feet.

I looked down and before me were the sticky tendrils of tumbleweed. I reached down and firmly grasped the offensive plant at its base and tugged. To my delight, it came up — easily! I tossed it on the walkway. Beyond it was another and another and another. I focused on pulling up tumbleweed and before I knew it, there was a pile of plants four feet high amassed. It was gratifying to see the bare earth left behind. 

Just one of the MANY loads of tumbleweed removed from the yard.

Now that there was less clutter, I could see the good plants that had been choked out by the weeds. The sunflowers had more room to thrive. The Four O'Clocks seemed to breath easier. The delicate Mexican Hair Grass, Baby's Breath, and Partridge Feather could now receive the sun they craved. Just removing that one invasive plant made a huge difference to the look of the property. 

Why had I been reluctant to garden? There was always an excuse. I was too busy with freelance work. It was too hot. I wasn't sure what to do or afraid I'd do something wrong— so I did nothing. But with the right instruction, all those objections fell away. 

As I slowly cleared the yard of tumbleweed, and saw the beauty left behind, I was filled with a renewed appreciation for all of God's creation. I began to wonder how many other areas of my life have I been reluctant to improve because I was stuck without proper instruction or just plain lazy? 

I'm certainly not the first to make this analogy. Vietnamese Buddhist monk and author, Thich Nhat Hahn, writes extensively about the mindfulness practice of cultivating joy in ourselves and others."We need to organize our daily lives so that the positive seeds are watered every day and the negative seeds are not watered," Hahn says. "We call this the practice of selective watering. We water the flowers, not the weeds, so that the flowers will bloom in the other person. When we make the other person smile, we benefit as well. It does not take long to see the result of our practice."

In this way, gardening (in any climate) can become a meditation. Now, when I'm pulling tumbleweeds, I contemplate how I can uproot fears and cultivate joy. I consider what invasive, negative thoughts and actions I might be watering out of habit. And I become curious about the treasures that I haven't fully appreciated in myself and others because I was so focused on negative characteristics.

"We all have seeds of suspicion, despair, and anger," Hahn says. "Every time a negative seed is touched and watered, we suffer. But we can do better than simply not watering our negative seeds; we can water our positive seeds of happiness, loving kindness, forgiveness, and joy."