“But once I began to notice the wild and weedy plants growing in the margins of the garden, and to find them lovely, my gardening grew more daring. I began to see the line that separates a weed from a plant as arbitrary; a rose, after all, is only a rose, by its name, when it is in a garden and not when it grows wild in a meadow; a weed is only a weed by its name, when it grows in a garden and not when it grows wild in a meadow. But a name does not change the fact that both are flowers, that both are part of nature. I stopped wanting to say I loved a particular plant and hated another. I loved all plants, loved the wildness of plants, loved the stubbornness of plants, loved their ability to thrust up from the ground and spring from every crevice. So when I looked out into the garden, I saw nothing but beauty, and in beauty I saw nothing but joy.”
Jamaica Kincaid
My Garden (Book), 1999
We arrived here without knowing each other. The space was vast and fertile. It felt as if it had always been there, dormant, patiently waiting for us to arrive in order to be awakened. We stood and looked around, at a loss, not knowing where to begin. We had come from somewhere, yes, there was another life behind us, but we were on the road looking for another way to be. In our backpacks were all kinds of tools we could use to work the ground. We didn’t know if they would work. This field was new.
Our eyes met and we smiled at each other. We both preferred to share a common ground, a place we could explore together. We said we didn’t want to be here alone. We would cultivate and harvest it hand in hand. We’re going to grow what we sow and nurture what grows. We would take care of the space and of each other. We would share our tools. We would share our sorrows and pains as we worked the land. We knew that one day it would become a garden.
We would help and support each other, especially when the going gets tough. We have agreed on our purpose, we have agreed on our methods. We would always have the work done together, in agreement. We would eat and drink together. We would speak when we felt like it and be silent when we felt like it. We would not compete with each other. Our goal is to do labor together, our goal is to know ourselves, to know the ground we share, to know our tools and to let grow what grows. We would not distinguish between the harmful and the hollow, the necessary and the unnecessary. All that grows has grown by the sweat of our brow, by the blisters on the palms of our hands, and the hunch of our backs.
All the seeds that have fallen to the ground have fallen from our bodies, from our dreams, from our fears. They are ours and they have the right to grow and be appreciated. We see ourselves more as weeds than as roses, but roses have also been considered weeds. So since we don’t know what will become of our weeds, we take care of them all. They have the right to be. And they have the right to bloom. Without any hidden agenda on our part. We care for the weeds. We praise them here, in our garden.
It was right there, in front of our eyes, we took shovels and dug thoroughly. We told each other that we would do the work together, and if one of us didn’t have the strength and faith in themselves to finish the work, the other would help. We would wipe each other’s sweat and tears. We would finish the task when the other asks her to. If we don’t know how to go on, the other will know, and if the other doesn’t know, time and the earth will know.
So we continued to work. We started our garden and we continued against all odds. The plants and trees grew and they outgrew us right away. They flourished as our work flourished. As our tools were sharpened, as our energy and joy nourished the garden. The birds came. Oh, there were many birds. Sometimes we thought birds outnumbered plants. There were times when we weren’t sure if it was a flower or a beautiful bird sitting on a branch. There were so many birds to bless our garden. Many other magical beings would also appear and transform the garden with their presence. In this way, our garden is always in constant transition, always in the process of becoming and ready to be felt with new senses every moment we would dive into it.
From the very moment we started sharing the ground and creating the garden, this became our shelter; a space where we would at times feel uncomfortable, lost or insecure, but never alienated nor discouraged. It became a space for creation, for discovering ourselves and for caring. It became a space for growth and for failure. The garden brings us hope. Together, we created a place where we feel we belong and, like the weeds we care for, here we have the right to simply exist and be who we are. Sometimes, a single soul willing to navigate by our side is enough to be encouraged in order to resist, break through and overcome our inner demons which feed on the precious seeds.
In the garden, we are all entities in symbiosis; breathing, expanding, forming a constellation, a universe. We feed the ground and the ground feeds us. Fragments of ourselves move, evolve and die to be born again within the garden, together. Here we feel safe to embrace everything that is constantly emerging in ourselves.
Something happened from the moment we found a common ground. Something very important that we don’t have the words to describe, something that is not yet fully visible, but it is maturing and building the energy to bring it into manifestation. We feel the change, but we don’t quite know what it is. We are afraid, but we are also happy.
Can you see that all this is a garden? Come and look. Sit with us on the soft grass. Say hello to the weeds, they hear you and, like every living thing, they want to be acknowledged. Observe with us. Listen to the songs of the birds and the buzzing of the bees. We are glad you are here, for we know there is much more to do, there is much to happen, much more to experience and process. We are growing. The garden is growing, but the work is not over yet.
