My yard desperately needs attention, so I got busy. I read a book. About soil. What better place to start? I was struck by the catchy title: Teaming With Microbes—The Organic Gardener’s Guide To The Soil Food Web. Naturally, I’m doing everything wrong in the yard. But I don’t care, because I did everything right in the reading of the book. I sat in a nice chair in the living room. My cup was full of tea. My slippers were on my feet. The room was dark except for the lamp on the side table next to me. The quiet moments I spent reading the book were incredible, and further enforced my own notion that in many ways, I live a charmed life.
Most of the book was over my head, except for two take-aways. 1) I need to leave the soil alone. Done. According to the book, if I take a hands-off approach, nature will do the necessary repairs, give or take six-hundred years. The book made suggestions on ways to safely speed up the restoration process, but that was one of the parts that went over my head. 2) Snails can live up to four years. I have four pots in the front that I fill with annuals because I’m too uncommitted to plant them in a flower bed. Last year I noticed snails in the pots. With a lifespan of four years, I’ve promoted them from pest status to pet status. I plan to leave them alone.
I looked for inspiration in another book, a must read for anyone serious about yards. Genius of Place—The Life Of Frederick Law Olmsted. The man was a high-achiever and most widely known for designing and landscaping Central Park. The book influenced me profoundly. It made me want to read in Central Park. I imagined myself sitting on a park bench by a hundred and fifty-year-old tree. My cup of tea would be next to me. (Not one from Starbucks. I’m in New York City. I’ll want to try something new.) I would look around a bit before opening my book. Finally, I would thank Mr. Olmsted for making this moment of serenity possible. He put a lot of hard work in creating that park. I feel it’s my duty to enjoy it.
Right now the view from my home office window is spectacular. I have a close-up look at snowball bushes that I planted years ago on the north side of the house. I neglected them for two decades, having wished them good luck in their attempt to survive. They’re still alive, but their hardscrabble existence was showing. Twenty-five percent of the branches were dead. Last year I took pity on them and gave them water and a light trim. I didn’t want to cut too much because throughout the year, the bushes had become a popular hangout for birds. Also, I wanted to avoid cutting the parts of the bushes that flower in the spring. To your relief and mine, the shrubs are covered with leaves, flowers and birds. I plan to leave them alone, too. Though I hope the birds promote the snails to pâté status.
Into the Comfort Zone 