A Whole New World

Yet more on dislocation and relocation

Before we plow an unfamiliar patch

It is well to be informed about the winds,

About the variations in the sky,

The native traits and habits of the place,

What each locale permits, and what denies.

(Virgil, The Georgics (36-29 BC) book 1 (43-70))

When Lori and I first moved to Taproot Garden in the fall of 2011, it might as well have been the moon. We were city kids who had spent our lives in classrooms, offices, and meeting rooms. As I noted in my memoir, Home By Another Way, the only thing I had ever grown was a library and a record collection. Suddenly we were in the country, surveying a patch of dirt and contemplating growing vegetables. Thankfully I had been reading some of the newer volumes in that library which counseled patience. New books, but ancient wisdom. There was that guidance from Virgil cited above.

There was Alexander Pope, from the 18th century, who cautioned:

Consult the genius of the place in all;

That tells the waters or to rise, or fall;

Or helps th’ ambitious hill the heav’ns to scale,

Or scoops in circling theatres the vale;

Calls in the country, catches opening glades,

Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades,

Now breaks, or now directs, th’ intending lines;

Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs.

And there was, of course, the Bible:

Moses sent them to spy out the land of Canaan, and said to them, ‘Go up there into the Negeb, and go up into the hill country, and see what the land is like, and whether the people who live in it are strong or weak, whether they are few or many, and whether the land they live in is good or bad, and whether the towns that they live in are unwalled or fortified, and whether the land is rich or poor, and whether there are trees in it or not. Be bold, and bring some of the fruit of the land.’ Now it was the season of the first ripe grapes. (Numbers 13:17-20)

In other words, they cautioned, don’t just start digging. “Pay attention first. Spy out the land; allow it to teach you. It will, after all, if you let it.” It was sage advice that served us well.

Having relocated to eastern Minnesota in recent weeks, I’ve been mulling over again and again that ancient wisdom. It is, after all, this land not that land. What animates this place will speak in a different voice.

Part of that learning curve is nuts and bolts. Data. In anticipation of launching an entirely new-to-me gardening experience this summer using raised beds, I starting reading up on local seasonal realities. At Taproot Garden in central Iowa we were located squarely in USDA growing region 5b. Now in eastern Minnesota we are in 4b. Whatever else that means, it notes that our winters are colder. It also hints that our growing season is shorter, which was verified by researching the last and first frost dates. More accustomed to the 3rd week of April as the average last frost, our new home delays that benchmark until the first week of May. As for average first frost? October 5 instead of October 14. So my “average” growing window is May 5 to October 5. Which is to note that I will need to pick my varietals and cultivars with care.

But the difference is more than calendars and thermometers. I once attended a presentation by a Sunday School curriculum writer and editor for our denominational publishing house. I’ve long since forgotten most of what she said, but I have never forgotten this: that curriculum is written for the “average” congregation, of which there is no such thing. Which meant, she said, that no matter who you are or where you are you have to adapt what arrives in the mail. No place is like every place. French vintners have understood that fact for hundreds of years. Grapes grown on this hillside taste different from those grown across the road, or on the other side of the mountain.

I’ve been thinking about that as I thumb through seed catalogues, and consider the fertility of this next phase not only of our garden but of our life before we “plow this unfamiliar patch.” It is not, after all, just the seeds that are asked to grow and flourish in a very different environment. It’s me, as well. Us. New cultural soil. New relational winds and rains. New customs and blossoms. New stories. Patience once again nudges us to “consult the genius of this place.” This particular place, whose voice we’ll need to grow attuned to, and whose narrative vibrations we join already in progress. It will take some time. Even though patience is not my liveliest virtue.

But I’m intrigued.

The cultural ecologist and philosopher David Abram once noted that:

A particular place in the land is never...just a passive or inert setting

for the human events

that occur there. It is an active participant in those occurrences.

Indeed, by virtue of its underlying and enveloping presence, the place may even be felt

to be the source, the primary power that expresses itself through the various events that

unfold there.

(Spell of the Sensuous)

And so we settle into this place and the primary power that expresses itself in all that is flourishing here. And will, I trust, in us, painting as we plant; designing as we work.

In quietly murmuring ways, it already is.