Rowing in a whaleboat recently I noticed how the reappearance of the foliage punctuates the shores of Fairhaven with bursts of green accentuating the lovely architecture. My companion noted that if Eskimos can have hundreds (an exaggeration) of words for snow, then green merits the same here in New England. Nodding in agreement, we pulled our oars together past the soothing landscape, now coming to life as spring settles in.
Other similar “primavera” moments have followed – taking in the bursts of buds on the trees as I drove back from Boston. This drive can be rather boring – especially when your focus is on the cars ahead of you. But seeing the progression of leaf canopy made a potentially mundane drive something festive. Something in the way the light hit the leaves and the contrast of dark and bright moved me. I was driving not along Route 495, but rather, a Corot landscape.
And then again today riding the bike path and smelling the grass being mowed, I was again reminded of the significance of green. These are notable spring moments for me as the return of green always carries with it hope and renewal. One could argue that the color green has actual synesthesia-like qualities – the senses get sort of crossed – you can see it, taste it, smell it and feel it. The regeneration of greenery has a powerful impact – a pull that takes us forward as well as to the past when we spent our childhood outdoors on green lawns. The return of green always brings comfort, even a euphoric feeling.
There are innumerable shades of green ushered in by spring. Perky jungle green ferns; avocado green fig, subdued army blanket moss; teal-tinged pine; deep dramatic leaves of acanthus; chartreuse lady’s mantle and of course everyone’s favorite the green of summer grass. I don’t have to stray from my garden to find these welcomers of the growing season.
“To be a gardener in a temperate climate is to be immersed in a world of greens — the rich dark green of yew, the yellowish green of young euphorbias, the soft green of young beech leaves, the glistening blackish green of laurel, the brownish green of unfurling ferns, and the intense bright green of springy new turf,” writes Susan Chivers in Planting for Color, in the Horticulture Gardener’s Guide. “Green soothes and calms and acts as a foil for every other color in the garden. It also provides a vital, seamless link between garden and landscape.”
The author notes that gardens with predominantly green themes can be very striking, as proven in the works of landscapers Piet Oudolf, Wolfgang Oehme and James van Sweden, who “make much use of grasses, arranging them in subtle gradations of green.” My gardens have a similar distinction, although it’s not by ascribing to a preference or design. It’s just the way things turn out. Variations in texture and range of color — both green and non-green – keeps the garden interesting.
Green in common culture is a euphemism for eco-conscious. And many of green’s word associations have positive connotations. Ireland’s “four green fields” or provinces; Gatsby’s green light; the jolly green giant; Fenway’s Green Monster; Anne of Green Gables; Green berets; Sir Gawain’s Green Knight; Shamrock shakes; Kermit the frog’s greenness; green eggs; salsa verde; and let’s not forget green thumb.
Green is the go sign. Take your shoes off and feel it.
Federico Garcia Lorca: “Verde que te quiero verde.” (Green, how I love you green.)
The Seaside Gardener
By Laura McLean