DOWN TO EARTH

Enlarge Image Image Gallery illustration by michael eagleton

The goldenseal is thriving in moist, fertile soil in a spot near a grapevine-covered arbor where it receives morning sun but is fully shaded during the rest of the day.

ATELEVISION INTERVIEWER recently asked Tasha Tudor what she thought would happen to her garden when she was gone. “Oh, it’ll be gone in six months after I’m dead,” she said matter-of-factly. “Weeds will take over; no one will remember where each plant came up each season. It’s just a garden as long as I’m the gardener.”

I look at my garden and wonder whether that’s enough for me. Does it really matter that after I’m gone, no one will remember which bed the lemon balm belongs in? Or that no one will care whether the lemon balm and lime balm cross, or whether the shavegrass gets out of its container and runs all over the place?

I recently made out a will, something many people don’t seem to take care of until later in life. It no longer seemed the morbid act that I had imagined it to be when I was younger. Doing so spurred me to think again about my garden’s longevity. I imagine that all gardeners wonder what will happen when they leave their garden. After all, for most of us, it’s paradise on earth, our most relaxing spot, and the place we feel most in control.

Before I bought this farm, Dale and Stella White had gardened here for most of their lifetimes. They had bought the property as newlyweds, built a house, and grown their own produce here for years. They surely were full of hope and excitement at the prospect of building a life for themselves on this piece of farmland. They must have felt it was their paradise, too. How many aching backs from hoeing did they have, how many pounds of sausage did they season with the sage and peppers they grew, and how many times did they look out at their garden and admire it in the moonlight as I do mine?