A Gardener's Lawn

It's Tuesday, it's cloudy, and we need rain. Of course it's no guarantee that we'll get any moisture out of the system currently hovering over us, and the cracks in the yard are getting larger and more numerous everyday. Some neighbours are watering religiously, trying to maintain that lush green lawn that normally takes little management beyond weeding and mowing, but this year they are fighting mother nature, and she usually wins. Lawns in the shade seem to be doing well, but those in direct sunlight are scorched and brown and dusty, to the point where we wonder if the grass will survive and grow again next year

We know better.

Grass can look after itself. It has millions of years of history on it's side to attest to it's tenacity and perseverance. Give it a little water and some bright sun shine, and it will grow, slowly at first maybe, but then it sends out roots and establishes new plants and over time sets in and turns a brown or black landscape green. Yes weeds are a natural part of that process; establishing more quickly than the seeded grasses, holding nutrients in the soil and preventing everything from blowing into the neighbour's yard. Over time the grass fills in and with help from a careful gardener whose timely plucking of the undesirable, naturally occurring vegetation, shifts the balance in favour of the grass, and a lawn is born.

Of course a weed-free lawn is the perfection, and only exists in the mind of the gardener. The reality is something altogether different, and involves a war-like arsenal of tools and chemicals or back-breaking stooping and pulling. A constant struggle to one-up mother nature and her amazing ability to keep hiding dandelions and thistles amongst the blades of grass.

Yes, grass can look after itself, but it finds a natural balance with other plants and species in a confined space; a natural harmony that escapes man's quest for perfection and order.

It's like my desk.

I like a clean desk, with its organized spaces and open flat surfaces upon which to spread files and plans and papers; the filing drawers filled with neatly arranged and properly labelled folders, everything and anything available to me at a moments notice with minimal effort and maximum efficiency.

Let's backtrack.

I like THE IDEA of a clean desk. Just like the gardener likes THE IDEA of a weed-free lawn. But I seem to have more paper dandelions and thistles on my desk these days than lush green lawn spaces of organization. If I try with enough effort, I can convince myself that my desk is a natural balance of work harmony, a glorious scene of colour and foliage, ripe with blooms and life, a thing of beauty to be treasured and admired as I sit and enjoy the surroundings.

Yes, I can be delusional with the best of them.

Spent the weekend back home - small-town, childhood-memories, home - celebrating the 25th wedding anniversary of my brother and sister-in-law at a come-and-go-tea at the local Senior's Centre. Rows of tables and chairs set out to welcome old friends and neighbours, with trays of cookies and dessert squares over by the barrel of juice; the silver industrial-sized pots of coffee and tea on the other paper-clothed table in front of the Centre's kitchen pass-thru window with a plate of teaspoons and ranks of cups stationed to their right, the staple of a community gathering, constantly filled and refilled over the course of a summer afternoon.

We visited with familiar faces and caught up with old friends and gazed around the room trying to place the as yet unrecognized, wondering if we should know them, if we ever did know them, and with hushed lean-ins, whispered queries to each other hoping to prop up fading memories of a different time. The children, dreading an afternoon trapped in a ancient museum of a place, all had their electronic comforts close by, likely texting each other a table or two away, but eventually the nieces and nephews broke through the boredom and conversed and laughed, the younger set chasing around the perimeter, burning abundant energy until crashing for a well deserved nap later; the older set even playing cards, while the guests of honour worked the room and shared congratulatory conversations and listened to and told the same old stories.

A digital photo slideshow on an infinite loop played in the background, showcasing the couple from their childhood years through to courtship and marriage and into the family stages, a lifetime's worth of memories compressed into a few minutes of ooh's and aw's and remember-when's.

The wedding album from that day 25 year's ago sat on a table near the Centre's entrance, and a quick thumb through before the guests arrived confirmed that we were all kids back then; skinnier, with more and bigger hair, and very questionable fashion choices. The children of course loved that. The boy was amused that dad ever looked like that and thought it terribly humorous to continually remind me all afternoon - of course I pointed out that he has my genes, and karma's a bitch, so tread lightly young padawan. Enjoy it while you can.

I looked around the room at the faces of people I once knew, and of those I still do, trying to find the order and neatness of the event which my brain craves. Some faces are gone, missing in time, the reminder that fate plays no favorites; others have remained mostly unchanged from how I remembered them, many more have changed beyond memory, and some have grown into those of their fathers or mothers. I watched the children of friends, themselves becoming adults before my eyes, and time stood still for awhile and the voices around me faded away and I saw a room full of energy at every stage of life, a constant process, marked only by the effects of time.

It wasn't that long ago we were the ones chasing each other around the room, or those bored beyond belief in that self-centered ego filled world of teenagerdom, and the pictures prove we most certainly were those wide eyed kids in the tuxedos with the big hair and the stiff poses, and it seems like yesterday we had the toddlers in tow, and now we're the ones closing in on milestone anniversaries ourselves. Soon we'll be the faces of those couples and individuals shaking hands and giving hugs and wishing the happy couple well.

Like the slideshow on the projector in the back of the hall, a lifetime gets reduced to minutes of memories, the smiles, the moments captured and remembered forever, treasured, admired. Time carries us along on it's journey, and the distant forgotten moments are left behind, like the gardeners weeds plucked out of the lush green lawn, removed in hopes of creating the perfect ordered life. But we know the weeds are there, just like those stray dandelions and thistles hiding under the blades of grass, and the wise gardeners know it's the contrast between them that makes the lawn seem more vibrant and fuller.

Happy gardening.