On Horticulture ... and Whitman...

I wonder if anyone else who claims the title of “horticulturalist” (or “plant lover”) can trace, as I can, the roots of that preoccupation back to just one plant that stirred their, up until then, latent love of nature.

I know I can . . .

For me, it all goes back to one, grand, magnificent specimen: the Chinese wisteria on Sebastopol Road in Santa Rosa, California. Sadly, it is now gone -- the victim of “development” (which has always seemed more appropriately called “destruction”, to me...) at a site that I was to learn had been an historic plant nursery with ties to Luther Burbank, the so-called “Plant Wizard of the West”.

I believe that one cannot be an admirer of just one facet of nature and not be made more aware of the other pieces of nature’s puzzle that fit, oh so nicely, into place once one has discovered how all of these integral eco-systems feed into one another.

When one has grasped a true appreciation for the plants, one begins to understand how even the products of “disastrous” conditions become fodder for life in other quarters.

Take for example a mighty limb of some stately tree that has fallen victim to storm or disease. At first glance, the broken branch hangs discordantly and seemingly out of symmetry with all that surrounds it -- an unfortunate “victim” of time and circumstance; until, that is, one pursues the thought further. Then one can appreciate the grubs that invade the now useless limb as being sometimes the only food by which the local birds sustain themselves in an otherwise harsh winter. Those birds become, then, fodder for the hawks, the snakes, the mountain lions and others whose lives depend upon that food source in the same harsh environment.

This “accident of disaster” then seems not so much an unfortunate happenstance as it does an integral part of the life cycles of every living, breathing creature around it.

Carried to its logical conclusion, therefore, one can surmise that all victims become part of a much greater whole of interdependent life cycles -- each dependent upon the other to survive. Which necessarily leads one to revere the otherwise distasteful and to appreciate the “unfortunate”, rather than revile it.

This turns all that one thought one knew upon its head as, for example, one learns reverence for the carrion eaters, rather than disgust. For it is they -- the worms, vultures, ravens, wolves and others -- who, by their paws, beaks and stomachs, neaten our environment to its most pristine and welcome condition.

Therefore, we learn that all have their place in our universe -- from the lowly to the lofty -- and all deserve our respect.

Carried to its extreme, this “all things being grass” philosophy (so eloquently described by Whitman) goes far in assuaging our perceptual pain over even the most horrible incidents (the events of September 11th come to mind...).

Only then, may we realize that we puny creatures, we humans (for all that we think we are), don't know the full repercussions of such calamities for we are not privy to the full cycle of time and what it holds in store, not just for our species, but for everything -- everywhere... and that this is so because, perhaps, we were not meant to...