Changing Perspectives

The predicted storms did not arrive until the afternoon. The sky was clear and the sun was bright. I was pulling weeds by the front fence near the street. Even the mailman affirmed as he walked by, it was a good morning to be out in the garden.

But the story starts a little over ten years ago when we began re-creating the gardens of the old mansion we bought to turn into a Zen Temple. The acre of surrounding grounds had been landscaped and cared for in the late 80’s, then neglected for the next twenty years. We loved the curving brick walkway and the eight-sided gazebo that sat under the trees in the back. Much thought had been given to this space; a number of large rocks strategically placed and quite a few robust rhododendron and azalea had survived the years of neglect.   But other areas were abandoned to weeds, bramble and the varied litter of a forest floor.

We cut back the overgrowth and found the weeping cherry tree, built the front access ramp around it, then found the two-ton stone Buddha to sit in front of this lovely specimen. But a lot of the area under the trees was bare and we were looking for ground cover. One helpful member of our community brought some lily-of-the-valley from her garden. She said it was a hearty ground cover that did well in shade or sun. I remembered the sweet smelling bell-like white flowers from my childhood and was happy for her donation.

The ten or twelve little lily-of-the-valley plants survived and thrived where little else would grow. For the first many years, I was happy to see their bright green leaves poking up in April with the white fragrant blossoms not far behind. But then the worm slowly turned. (We actually have tons of worms in the garden here and I suppose they are always turning, but this was one worm who turned not in a good way.) I began to notice the green patches of lily-of-the-valley beginning to encroach on other ground covers and plants that I preferred. I did occasional weeding and mostly ignored the creeping threat.

Over the past two years, however, it has gone to another level. All of the gardens along the western fence are now infested with lily-of-the-valley. Spreading through underground runners, it weaves a tangled mass that surrounds and kills other small plants. Removing one or two shoots does nothing to slow its advance.

Last year I got serious had one of our volunteer garden workers remove this pest from the front gardens. And experienced gardener, she dug deep and removed masses of roots. After several hours of hard work she managed to remove all the lily-of-the-valley from that area of the garden.

This year, I have set the same volunteer and two others to work on the other hot spots further back. As she was weeding, she casually asked me how the front was. I reassured her that they were clear due to her hard work. But a day later, I actually looked and realized I was wrong. Large patches of lily-of-the-valley had not only had survived but were spreading again. And that’s where I started in the glorious sun of yesterday morning.

To remove lily-of-the-valley, you have to dig about ten inches down to get below the mass of roots. Then you reach in and pull and shake as you trace the roots and remove the roots. The tender early spring green shoots belie the determined mat of roots lurking beneath the surface. It’s messy physical work.

I had a wonderful time.

As I worked, in the warmth of the sun, my neighbor stopped by.   He was out for his morning constitutional in his bandana-like mask. We talked about the weather and this endless pandemic. We exchanged stories of going to the grocery store—all from a safe distance. Another garden helper also stood ten feet away as we chatted about the beauty and variety of daffodils as we shared the beautiful garden. It was almost like normal.

I dug up two large buckets of lily-of-the-valley roots, appreciated the endless quality of my task and was greatly satisfied.

This is only a start but the worm has turned once more. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by this sweet smelling competitor, I am looking forward to many more mornings of sitting in the garden digging, getting dirty and working to create the space for other things to grow and thrive.

Personal Practice: In this time of limited physical contact with each other, what are the physical activities that you still do? Pay attention today to the physicality of preparing your food – the sounds and textures, the smells and associations. Be present to the touch of the bowls as you remove them from the cabinet, to the sound of the silverware as you take it from its drawer or the cereal as it clatters from the box into its waiting bowl. Work in your garden. Make your bed. Sweep the floor. Appreciate what you have to do. Everywhere is touching and being touched. Everything you encounter is your life.