Loving Growth

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Jaych

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Of all seemingly arbitrary distinctions
I appreciate the distinction of landscaper and Gardener
Maybe it doesn't seem important to you
But in my opinion,
The landscapers is a conformists's position.
And a fascist's tradition

I have never quite been able to understand landscaping
When I see a hedge, or a tree, or a beautiful patch of flowers
My instinct is not to control it
There is no part of me that wants to make sure it grows in just the right way
As I drive down the road I see too many barren patches on the sides of highways and next to the weird empty broadsides of retail stores
Safe guarded by the watchful eyes of landscapers
Because for some reason it is paramount that his bush stay stunted
That way you can see the metal fence or the blank building wall behind in all its glory
Because nature abhors a blank canvas
But society abhors a canvas gilled outside its approval

And the landscapers of course are at the behest of piercing cries and nagging eyes of neighbors or tourists or otherwise unsatisfied people.
Because as silly as calling the cops is
What has to be 10 times sillier
Though it comes from the same compulsion,
Is calling the cops on a plant.
I have no idea how to understand the person who walks down the street
And decides to contact the city
Because this particular grass has grown too long
Though I very much understand that this person exists
And I'm not talking about the places a plant clearly should not grow
Up the powerlines
Down into the pipes
Tearing apart the facade of an old brick building
Blocking sidewalks so wheelchairs can't get past
I'm talking about clipping branches and trimming roots
Because someone out there is hungry to have the world grow at their pace
In only the places they dictate
To match a vision of beauty locked inside their brain
Instead of the one coded into the DNA of the wild lavender that's managed to peek through a sidewalk crack
I don't get this

A gardener though
A gardener I can get behind
Someone who sees the wild
Sees the beauty
Who thinks how can I help it along?
And how can it help me?
The careful someone
Neatly untangling the conflict between the Rose of Sharon and Bougainvillea vines
Assessing each leaf for water
Assessing themselves for which plants they feel like watering
Making sure they are being fair to the whole garden
Because planting something is starting something and there IS obligation in that
Doing the tougher job of going inside to lie down
To make sure they are being fair to themselves,
To their hands,
To the hose, and to the water bill
Pouring out enough to keep the garden rooted
Pulling back enough to keep it from scrambling over itself
From one plant smothering another
Then standing far enough back to watch what happens

If you are on the landscapers side
I dare you to sneak past your persnickety opinions of where the Butterfly Bush should go
And what type of bugs you want crawling around
I know how hard this is going to be for you
Trust me

I once had a slight dream of writing a book about a society where everything was perfect
Each time a lightbulb went out on a random streetlight
It would be fixed the very next day
Every sidewalk crack filled
All graffiti scrubbed clean from every nook and cranny
The Underworlds of bridges as pristine as museums
Everyone with something to do at all times
And the naysayers calling it all bustywork
They are missing the beauty of perfection
Because I will grant you the truth that there is beauty in perfection
In iteration and improvement and not moving on until its good
And it's funny
Because i wanted to write that book in the first place to say
"What if we spent more time focusing on what we HAVE
Instead of blindly rushing forward to what we don't?"
And for some reason my bright idea to get us to do that
Was not the circular embrace of vines or love
But the obsessive recursion and mindfuck of control over petty differentiations
This particular confusion between sustainable and self consuming is more rampant than you'd expect,
So I forgive myself for it

If I was going to write that book today
The heroes would not be the Obsessives tilers
Redoing each porcelain tile in a public subway station that has gotten half a shade darker
These would be the buttt of the joke
And there would be a radically insurgent group that did not care
That every cream colored suburban house be power washed
And every white fence everywhere be perfect
And yes,
They wouldn't give a shit about making sure the sides of the highway were bare
And yes
They would be at war with landscapers

If you are still on the landscapers side
I dare you to pull out a chair
And sit in your lawn
And imagine it is a yard
Out of your control
Nestled in your care
Growing in your palms
So not entirely out of your control anyways
Let your imagination run wild

This is an ode to my way of loving things
To my garden and green thumbs
And to my polyamory

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