Preparing for springtime
This is an excerpt from my journal. I describe what I am doing these days and how I feel about the living environment I am a part of.
These days I am making raised garden beds for the coming spring. In them I will plant tomatoes, zucchinis, and onions. It is still too early to start with the vegetables, but I want the land to be ready as soon as the temperatures get a bit warmer.
I also continuously inspect every spot in my land to have an idea of how it is developing. This is a living system. It does not remain static. At one spot, I identified eleven new blackthorns. They are less than thirty centimetres in height, yet are growing fast. I had cleared the land there last year, which created a vacuum that those shrubs will soon fill in. At another location there are three new almond tree offshoots that have just popped out of the ground. Within six months they will be over a metre tall.
Whenever I clear some land, I do it with the intent of giving this living system that I participate in a certain direction. I do not destroy it, even when I cut something down or create a new opening. Many people will bring their notions for the living room to the outdoors. They want the fields to look “clean”, which is far more invasive of a project than whatever one does to their living room.
Sometimes I get questions from labourers heading to the mountains: “why did you leave the grass here?”, to which I respond “because it does no harm”. They are used to spraying chemicals everywhere. I walk past vineyards only to witness the grass in a yellow-red colour, a sign that it is rapidly decaying from poisoning. There is nothing there to hold the soil together. Once the land is dry and prone to erosion, those same people bring in diggers and tractors to fix the mess they created. But they never pause to consider that they could cooperate with the land instead of being in direct conflict with it.
To me, my presence here is not a zero-sum game. I am not dominating my area. I am shaping it, while giving other organisms the room to thrive. They benefit from my initiatives, while I enjoy the benign effect their life has on my stay here. I consider myself responsible for their wellness. Even though I plan to live in this place for the rest of my days, I see myself as a guest. I want to respect what I have found and leave it in a good condition for those who will come after I am gone.
Because of the severe droughts these past two years, I did not have success in my farming endeavours. None of the vegetables made it. While many of the trees I planted got burnt. Still, the side effects of my careful labour are tremendously positive. There are so many new trees and shrubs that are growing. Same for grapevines and aromatic rose bushes. I have lots of them now.
All the transplants I have done these past few months have been successful. I mostly focused on moving aromatic roses at the perimeter of my land. They look beautiful, which is always a plus. But they also perform the vital function of keeping the topmost layer of soil intact. In other words, they prevent soil erosion coming from direct rainfall. I combine those with rocks, to make the edges extra resilient, given how grass and stone quickly form virtually unbreakable bonds.
This winter has been especially rainy and there is forecast for yet more heavy rainfall in the days to come. I am glad that all my work is showing signs of progress, despite the setbacks with the droughts. I know that I am moving towards the right direction. I have a clear vision for my land and recognise that every form of life here has a role to play.
In about a month from now the oak trees will start blossoming. At the early stage they must be releasing some kind of sweet substance that the honeybees adore. Whenever I walk outside during those days I hear a constant buzz from what probably is millions of honeybees at work. It does not disturb me. I stand there in admiration. I find it remarkable how there is immanent reason throughout. One single insect embodies know-how whose full extent eludes us.
I have observed time and again how this living system adapts to my actions, in the same way I respond to the conditions it creates. I clear some spot of land only to find that new vegetation grows there. I plant some canes and then encounter doves take shelter among them. I refrain from pruning dead branches off of some of the older almond trees and each day am greeted to a crow or magpie sitting there. Birds pick those branches because they provide a clear vantage point.
When a crow or magpie sees me, it does its familiar noises while looking at me. I am confident that they know me. They must be recognising the patterns in my motions. All animals do so: it is a prerequisite for their survival to have situational awareness.
Plants are the same. They know, for example, that the spot is clear for them to make their move. They understand how there is better exposure to sunlight as well as improved access to air and, thus, rainwater and humidity. Similarly, a root that gets exposed to the air knows that it has to turn itself into an offshoot. It too is mindful.
I do not mean to suggest that other forms of life are human-like in their qualities, but that what we think of as peculiar to humanity is actually widespread.
Springtime is fast approaching. The more I understand my immediate surroundings, the less important I feel I am. It is wonderful to be aware of what is happening and to know that the world will carry on without me.
“What do you do in your life?” One is inclined to write about their career in the most favourable terms possible. I am content with “I create clearings”.