I’ve been following my own advice from the last column, and I have to tell you — it’s made all the difference.
I will admit freely that I am a list person. I chart my course for garden and house tasks, perhaps a trickle-down from my father, who writes out everything he intends to accomplish. My daughter similarly creates detailed itineraries, and this has proved an asset. I guess we are a family of step-by-step people.
Lately, though, I’ve broken away from that habit and plunged in spontaneously. With my school vacation ending soon, it makes sense to grab some fun before the gloriously repetitious days begin again.
Looking over what I’ve done during the latter part of summer, you’ll see that I don’t stray too far from my center: gardening. A getaway affords a break, but it also brings new frontiers into view. A case in point is something so ridiculously obvious that I’m almost ashamed to admit I don’t partake of it often enough: the seashore.
While I do row a gig with six others most weekends, that is more muscle than relaxation and contemplation. I’m happy to say I’ve amended my routine to make room for more immersion and fun.
Last week I fit in three activities — golf, biking and sailing — along with an excursion to Martha’s Vineyard, all in an effort to balance out the all-consuming routine of yardwork and day-to-day life. With various buddies, I found each invigorating, fun and mind-expanding. Heeling a sailboat. Rising before dawn for a 25-mile bike ride. Getting back into the swing of golf. My dexterity and agility were tested!
My bike buddies, Ray and Donny, are like a comedy duo, and that makes getting up at 4:45 am worth it. Having the roads to ourselves as we pedal through Rochester and Middleboro, past cranberry bogs and old-growth forests, feels like traveling back in time — although the roads are mercifully smooth. The views alone are enough to sustain the vigor with which we travel.
The sail — and then the swim — allowed me to slow down and take notice of the actual seashore. And there they were: the plants of the seashore, doing what they have always done, only without me paying much attention.
Amid the intense heat, I began to notice them. Most striking was sea lavender set against marsh grass, a combination that amplifies the pale purple flowers. Nature figured out that combo!
Along the high-tide mark stood groundsel bush, also known as sea myrtle, a salt-tolerant shrub native to the coast. Its late-season nectar supports bees, butterflies and other pollinators, while its dense branches provide nesting cover for birds. In fall, it produces showy, cottony white seed plumes.
These were surrounded by a retinue of marsh elder and, farther along the path, Queen Anne’s lace — so understated it could easily go unnoticed. Along the golf course, more salt-tolerant plants rimmed the edges of the greens, along with pokeweed and reeds topped with their feathery plumes — phragmites.
This is where the gardener in me, apparently, refuses to take a vacation.
I started looking at the shoreline not simply as a beautiful place to be, but as a landscape. Nothing seemed to be asking for attention. Nothing needed staking, deadheading, watering or rescuing. These plants simply existed where they belonged, making the most of an environment that is hardly what we would call easy.
Salt. Wind. Heat. Shifting water. Poor soil. And still they grow.
There was something about this that caught my attention. Perhaps because I spend so much of my time trying to help plants along in my own garden, I was struck by the wisdom of a landscape that has figured out how to take care of itself. The shore was not manicured. It was not arranged according to my ideas of what should go where. It was simply there — and beautiful.
I found myself looking at these plants the way I look at those in my own garden: with curiosity and admiration. Of course, I used Google Lens to identify some of them, including a cudweed species commonly known as rabbit tobacco. Because apparently even on vacation, I need to know the names of my plants.
What survives here has earned its place. There is no pampering, no amended soil, no careful watering schedule. These plants know their conditions and have figured out how to live beautifully within them.
We gardeners spend an enormous amount of time deciding what belongs where. We amend soil, move plants, water, fertilize, prune and fuss. We make lists. We make plans. We have visions.
But perhaps sometimes the landscape already knows something we have forgotten to notice. That thought stayed with me as I swam.
And perhaps that is one of the gifts of getting away: seeing the familiar with fresh eyes. I may leave my own garden behind, but I don’t really leave gardening behind. It has become a way of seeing.
The beauty of a break, then, is not necessarily escaping who we are. Sometimes it is simply giving ourselves enough distance to see familiar things — and ourselves — a little differently.
So, with summer vacation drawing to a close, I’m grateful for the spontaneous detours: the bike rides before dawn, the golf links, the sail, the swim and the chance to notice a landscape I too often overlook.
You can take the gardener out of the garden, after all. But you can’t quite take the garden out of the gardener.
“Those who dwell among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life. Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. The more clearly we can focus our attention on the wonders and realities of the universe, the less taste we shall have for destruction.”— Rachel Carson
The Seaside Gardener
By Laura McLean