Every time I tempt my family into the garden, I am often accused of inflicting horticultural therapy upon them. They may be right. My wife needs little prompting, as she better appreciates the diversity of plants than I and finds great solace in nature’s grasp. My daughters are a different story as when I have called for their help, the help tends to require lots of muscles and effort. So they are naturally suspicious.
I tried a different tack recently with my daughter Sarah as we started in the vegetable garden harvesting basil. It was a quiet time for us early in the morning as we sat and pulled leaves while talking. She told me about how her week went and I listened suggesting to her that she smell her hands every so often to imbibe the basil’s scent. She did and made a pleasing sound and continued with her work. After a bit she said, “Papa, is this horticultural therapy?” I smiled and asked her, “What do you think?” She gave me one of her typical incredulous raised-eyebrow looks.
As we were finishing I told her that we would use a dehydrator to preserve the basil for the winter. I gave her a jar of basil I had already dehydrated. She wondered how we could do this and I showed her how to build a simple dehydrator from a few pieces of wood and a plate of glass. Once the dehydrator was in place and functioning, she was amazed how hot it got under the glass. We put the basil in and then attacked some peas that had been left over from the summer. We pulled the remaining dry peas out of their pods to use as seed for next year’s garden. Then we started the hard work: rebuilding stone walls and borders.
A byproduct of installing a new septic system in the area where I live is that you get rocks. Lots of rocks. To many, the quaint stone walls that are scattered throughout New England represent an era of quiet industry and beauty. To those who cleared the land and built these walls, however, it was merely the most efficient way to remove the plow-busting granite, slate and ledge that is all too common in our properties.
So we had a big pile of rocks to choose from that was added to the big pile of rocks we moved when we had to dismantle the walls before the project was started. And now it was time to rebuild.
Appropriately we were doing this chore on Labor Day, which was when we were all at home with a day off. But the sky was clear and the landscapers at home resting, leaving us the opportunity to take our turn to move rocks and earth. With a bulldozer, the workers had moved some large boulders throughout the property to create a rough outline of where the beds and new gardens should be. The placement was not perfect but with steel poles, shovels and lots of pushing from me, my son-in-law (Alan) and Sarah, we were able to get the larger rocks in place.
The effort involved in moving the largest of rocks the smallest of distances creates a concentration between us that can’t be underestimated. As a group we try to move in unison, much like the arm of a backhoe albeit with much less strength. Our levers are manipulated by slight signals between us so that the small boulder moves in the right direction.
After the largest of rocks are in place we then start building the walls and borders. We are not building classic New England stone walls but rather squat versions that will create a space for different beds in the front yard. My wife and Sarah take charge of building the walls; Alan and I are the laborers who bring the stones to them. Our task is minimal compared to the early settlers in this part of the country, yet we still strain to move the largest of rocks.
As we move the stones to my wife and daughter, we attempt to bring the largest ones first to create a good base and then progressively smaller stones that will cap the top. We dig through the different piles trying to imagine where the stones will go and where they have been. Some came from the very wall that is being rebuilt; others have been unearthed from a blanket of loam and hardpan where they have been undisturbed for ages. This is their first exposure to light in centuries, perhaps thousands of years. Other rocks were smashed into their current forms by hydraulic hammers that shattered tongues of ledge that protruded into an areas where a storage tank needed to be placed. These are new rocks with rough and sometimes sharp edges that have not had the opportunity to be smoothed by the weathering process.
“Bring us some smaller rocks,” said my wife Juana. “And some flat ones would be good if you can get them.” And with those commands we try to find the best match. But there are no bad matches. Even though building these walls and borders is like a jigsaw puzzle, many of the pieces are interchangeable. There is no right or wrong way to assemble the wall; it just shouldn’t collapse. That is really the only criterion we adhere to. So with this idea in mind, we place rocks in a circle or line until we are finished (or run out of rocks.) None of our creations are perfect, but it doesn’t matter. We have spent the day working together and now can sit back and enjoy the fruit of our effort. Even if it is just a pile of stones.
