New Bark Mulch and Life’s Impermanence: Reflections on Early Morning Gardening

New bark and clean pathway in a (for-now) well-tended yard

When I woke up this morning, one of my first thoughts was, “I should clean up the yard before the sun heats up” (we are, in fact, expecting some rare heat this weekend). I regretted that thought because once it was there, it nagged at me.

So out I went. First I cleaned up fallen petals in the rose garden. Then I went after dead leaves lying beneath the rhododendrons. I’m not normally this swift to collect fallen foliage—it’s easy to rationalize all this as natural compost—but we just had our yard professionally cleaned after years of modest neglect. The cleanup process actually started with our gutters (in a convenient synchronicity, a crew just happened to be in the neighborhood when we were thinking about the task). Then the crew leader suggested in a kind but direct way that our yard could use some work, and we realized that this was a welcome bird-in-the-hand (as compared to all the birds-in-the-bushes of comparative shopping and preplanning debate).

Many man-hours (theirs) and dollars (ours) later, we have a tidy front and back yard, with pathways cleared (had we even remembered the paths could look like that?) and—my favorite—new bark mulch on the ground.

I love fresh bark. To me it is literal and figurative protection, a covering that takes care of the ground and all its plants (down to the roots) as well as a symbol of a secure, well-tended home. It says, “I take care of you today, and I will care for you as the days move ahead.” It also pleases my eye, its minimalist layering fresh and uncluttered.

So when I saw deadened leaves from the now-trimmed rhododendron bushes beginning to cover the new bark, I was determined to respond quickly. I would defy the avoidance that led, season by season, to a state of weedy decline! I would preserve this beautiful new scene!

Of course, the act of gardening confronts us with the reality of impermanence. No matter how diligently we weed or how tenderly we pick up fallen blossoms, we will have to do it again someday. Impermanence is part of this bittersweet life of ours. We get to experience wondrous moments of beauty, love, joy, art, and connection, and then at some point we watch those moments pass. More moments will follow, different ones, cultivated and colored by all that has come before, but there will be losses, too. The flow of life demands that we change and move on, regrouping and reshaping to adapt. Trying to hold on impedes our ability to be in our life today and makes us miss the surprise around the corner.

Labor Day weekend is one of the year’s fulcrums. We turn in one direction and look back on summer; we turn in another and look ahead to fall. We are momentarily in balance but already preparing for transition. Balance before imbalance; stillness before movement; stability before instability. Briefly, we stand in place before we leap into the new.

Questions for Reflection: What images come to mind on Labor Day weekend? How do you feel about tasks that are inherently impermanent? What are your reactions to the changes in seasons and other life transitions?

Writing Prompts: “As we change seasons, I am aware of ______” (then keep writing); “The impermanence of life is something I ______” (then keep writing); “I associate Labor Day weekend with ______” (then keep writing); “My approach to change is ______” (then keep writing).

Tagged as: balance/imbalance, cleaning up a yard, gardening, holding on, impermanence of life, Labor Day weekend, permanence/impermanence, transition