Getting Comfortable with the Chaos of Wildness

I’m not going to lie, my garden is in chaos. When I stopped weeding two years ago, I was genuinely shocked by how much everything grew (roses, trees, vegetables). Two years in, I’m even more shocked at how everything has grown — especially the things I did not plant, including what some might call weeds.

I’ve also been humbled by the wildlife. In Love Nature Magic, I bragged about my raised beds and how they keep the rabbits at bay. Well, apparently, groundhogs and Raccoons are good climbers. Because last week I came home from being away for a week, and all my green beans and lettuces were chomped to stubs. I also see where they have eaten the tops of many of the weeds, which is a good thing. I know it’s the groundhogs because I’ve seen them do it. Gardeners Supply has just received a large order from me for wildlife protection devices.

There have been a few good surprises. A wild hydrangea that planted itself in a crack that would have otherwise been unplantable. My father’s favorite tree, a Redbud, seeded itself right outside the window where I enjoy my morning coffee. Various varieties of Mullein are flowering delightfully and attracting pollinators. Marigolds and snapdragons reseeded themselves in my garden cracks.

I have had to get more aggressive about cutting back trees that planted themselves where no one will be happy, and a few other inappropriately placed plants. But I refuse to call a plant invasive. The more I learn and understand, the more I can see that the landscapes that have been destroyed by development (and the crowding deer populations) are simply trying to heal themselves. Who are we to tell nature what it should or shouldn’t do to feel better? Oh, that’s right. We are colonizers. But stopping our own colonizer urges means getting comfortable with chaos. And that’s not always easy. I am practicing sitting back and seeing how everything evolves. I’m a scientific experimenter in regeneration and succession. Fortunately, I don’t have to make a living from my garden. And I can always run over to Wonder Garden or my local farmers’ market to fill in the gaps of what I failed at.

I keep thinking about a letter Georgia O’Keeffe wrote to my grandfather, J.I. Rodale, where she invited him to “Come see my failures.”

The truth is, as I get older, I’ve lost my ambition to make things orderly and tidy. My body doesn’t have the stamina or strength (or stubbornness) it once had. And honestly, aren’t there more important things to do with the rest of my life than try to tame the untamable? And I don’t want to hire people to take care of stuff for me because frankly, I’d rather swim naked and watch the clouds sail by while I float on my raft. We are both untamable, nature and I. And there is plenty for everyone and everything here.

I’ve also lost the desire to impress people or show off my garden. It’s incredibly freeing. I’ll have people over and welcome them into the wildness. But honestly, I don’t care what they think of it, or me. Although I enjoy learning from visitors and hearing their thoughts. We all have things we can learn from each other. But ultimately, we all have the freedom to forge our own path.

We old gardeners know that a garden is constantly growing and dying, succeeding and failing. The best we can do is go with the flow and make the most of what works. Every year will be different. No tree fruits for me this year because of the late hard freeze. But my tomatoes are doing well. And I’m about to harvest about 70 heads of garlic. Spaghetti for everyone this September!

I keep coming back to why we even garden at all. For food. For beauty. For exercise, pleasure, and joy. But my definition has expanded to include feeding and creating joy for everything. The soil, the plants, the birds, the bugs, the snakes and turtles, the animals, the bats, the seen and the unseen, the loved and the unloved.

Everyone and everything deserves to eat.

And everyone and everything deserves joy.