What started as a neat and tidy garden years ago has evolved into some sort of wild mess– a tangle of vines and flowers with vegetables sprinkled in for good measure. Years ago, the sight of this chaos would have given me an anxiety attack; yet now, the garden… and other things … are allowed to work their way into the entropy inevitable to all natural things.
These other things: a spotless house, a tidy yard, walls free from scuff marks and fingerprints, a floor free from dust bunnies and short stiff white dog hairs. These other things: thoughtful, provoking articles lined up all neat in a row ready to be published somewhere else (somewhere more orderly?), clean towels that smell fresh as a breeze and are of course folded in some sort of method allowing those who need them to identify them as so.
These other things.
Within this mess, within this wild place, things have grown and flourished. Flowers have yielded to apples and peaches (never mind that the squirrels and jays enjoyed every last one of those beautiful peaches), tiny bright purple blossoms have transformed into beautiful long purple beans, or shiny black eggplants. Minuscule seeds scattered by accident became the best carrot patch we have ever grown. The tomatoes that we had completely given up on (it was too wet, too hot– they kept rotting) have finally come through in abundance.
I wasn’t proud of our garden this year, not by a long shot. It didn’t look the way I had hoped. And hope is a funny thing. Hope can blind you, can shade your eyes from the goodness in front of you if your expectations are too rigid. Sometimes expectations need to change. Sometimes we need to see the success amidst the chaos. It isn’t perfect, but it’s perfectly good.