PHILOSOPHICAL SCHISMS

Today, in Susan Albert's blog tour posting, she talked about how they have gradually scaled back on their gardens, due to advancing age, increased writing demands, time spent at their second home in New Mexico, and due to the ravages of flood and drought. Bit by bit, the various sections have reverted to the native plants and grasses from whence they were wrestled, and she is now quite content with her "wild garden."

I have had a nagging cloud of guilt hanging over me, ever since we bought this place. Because of my background in landscaping, people keep wondering when I am finally going to "get to work." While I was still living in Houston, I could make excuses about the drought and not having a way to keep things watered, but that doesn't work anymore. The truth is, I've become attached to my field of grasses that ripples in the wind, the clumps of cedar that provide the deer with shady resting places, the patches of lavender verbena that are popping up everywhere right now, the native Texas Mountain Laurel that smells like grape bubblegum when it blooms, the cactus paddles with their purple thumb-shaped blooms, and the yuccas that have all just sent up exotic looking bloom stalks in unison.

My interests have broadened since I first became obsessed with gardening, and my body is twelve years older (and suffered a good bit of abuse while employed at the nursery). If my tiny suburban plot in Katy sucked up hours of my time every single day, and had me soaking away my aches and pains in the whirlpool each evening, what might this four acres demand of me? More and more I am convinced that most of the property should stay just as it is, and that I should confine my gardening efforts to a few containers and raised beds up close to the house. The trick will be to convince John of that.

This is not the only philosophical schism that has risen here. The biggie involves deer. To feed, or not to feed, that is the question. City folk who move out here just love seeing the deer wander across their yards at dawn and dusk each day, and in order to encourage that, they tend to set up those mechanized feeders that drop corn out at certain times each day. That way you get hordes of deer coming through like clockwork. Old-timers are rabid in their conviction that it's a very bad idea. They will give you a long list of the reasons why, but the one that grabs my attention is the claim that if you encourage a bunch of deer to come into your yard, you are much more likely to lose all your other plants to them as well.

Now, my John just loves shopping for plants and putting them in. In fact, it's just about his favorite thing in the world. He doesn't give a rat's ass about reading up on them, finding out what they need, or caring for them. He just likes putting them in. So, not only is he unfazed when deer eat a plant, he may even see it as an asset - an excuse to go shopping again. Since I am extremely frugal with my money, and absolutely despise wanton waste, losing a plant that I have invested time, money and energy in, without ever seeing it reach maturity? Well, that makes me physically ill.

I too enjoy seeing the deer wander across the yard, and in fact, sit here eagle-eyed with anticipation each morning, hoping to catch sight of one. However, as I wrote that sentence, it occurred to me that the key word here is "anticipation." If I knew that a bunch of deer were going to come through every day, same time, same place, would I still get that same thrill of anticipation? Wouldn't it eventually become dull and boring? To me, the excitement comes from not knowing when, where, or even if I will spot one. That's what keeps me on the edge of my seat.

Isn't it lucky that John and I somehow manage to laugh with and enjoy each other, in spite of (or maybe because of) our many differences? Do you think perhaps we were brought together to balance one another? In the words of Rocky Balboa...well, nah. Let's not go there.