By Blake Davis

“What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have never been discovered.”-Ralph Waldo Emerson

I’m convinced my whole street thinks I’m crazy.
My neighbor whose backyard abuts mine (so obviously I call them my “butt-neighbors”) told me last week their dog doesn’t even bark anymore. It's so accustomed to the thumps and scrapes of my digging as my headlamp bobs like a tired firefly at the back of my yard at 11pm.  

 I recently visited a friend at their new home, looking over his backyard he told me “Every time I come out here, I ask myself: what would Blake do with this yard?”
I said, “Oh, that’s easy. I would overextend myself.”

I would call that my garden specialty. 

Whenever I see an announcement of a Master Gardener tour, I say “I’d love to do that…. Once I get caught up”.
I’ve been saying that for 4 years now.

I hear these sage gardening proverbs like “One year’s seeds, seven years’ weeds.” and “The best time to plant a tree was ten years ago.”
So I need to stay ahead of the weeds, while planting trees, prepare for spring, lay drip lines for summer, start mowing, oh and I’ve got that plant I kept alive in a pot all winter I need to get into the ground.
I don’t know where to begin, so I’ll just start a new, completely unrelated project.

My son, exceptionally excited, helps me with a project

If I asked my counselor to pinpoint the root of my anxious ambitions, she’d ask a sassy question like “Blake can you think of any traumas in your life that might manifest itself in striving to overachieve by pressing against time even at the cost of overextending your body?”
To which I’d say something like “Ugh, shut up Patricia with your… wise and smart counsel.”

I’ve got a great resume of potential factors: Diagnosed ADHD (my ‘quirky gift’), born with a terminal disease with a 25-year life expectancy, experimentally homeschooled, and sleep deprived with three kids under five- to name a few of the big-hitters.

So that’s why this spring I participated in “No Mow Month”, a project promoted by the Cumberland River Compact to support pollinators by letting your yard grow wild. 

I’m all for it, I love bees, I am fully invested in our Mason Bee program.
But let’s be real: Someone will deliver a sign to my yard that tells my neighbors it’s only out of control for NOBLE reasons?
“I’m not behind, I’m saving the pollinators!... just ignore the squirrel horde of unfinished projects behind that curtain.”

But here’s the thing: as my front yard grew wilder, I discovered which areas were weeds, and which had native plants I’d been mowing over every year to keep up with my neighbors.

While rushing to and from garden tasks, I found myself stopping and sipping my coffee as I watched mason bees flit around the tall grass, as dew soaks into my socks through my ugly green crocs. My wife has commented that there seem to be fewer mosquitoes this year, and I can’t describe the feeling that first mow evoked once the month was finished.

The mess of my unmowed yard forced me to realize I was rushing because I wanted to prove I had control of things, not because it’s what I -or my garden- really needed. 

 But life, like the huge tree that fell on my fence last week, has a tendency to remind us that even the most meticulously laid drip line or brightest headlamp can not ensure our plans will succeed.

Me, probably wondering why I can’t seem to get anything done at the moment

My family welcomed a new baby in October, and just days later, our best friend was killed while running on the Mill Creek Greenway.
Grief and a third child stripped away any illusions I had of control over my life, and as we navigated through the hurricane of emotions, the joy of new life and the chasm of loss, we decided our focus for this year would be ‘no striving’.

Now anytime I start to talk about my garden tasks from a perspective of frustration or anxiety, my wife asks me: “Is your garden a place of rest, or a place of striving?” 

Rest is not natural for me. I get so fixated on what is unfinished that I forget to sit and enjoy the garden I’ve grown.

No Striving

So this year, I’m learning how to focus on my blooming hydrangeas without obsessing over the crabgrass popping up in the mulch at its base. I’m trying to stop comparing my garden (or my life) to some idealized perfection I’ve built in my own mind.
I’m forcing myself to stop and sit quietly and really look at what’s growing.

 This is my challenge to myself this year:
When working in my garden, I walk as slowly as I can. Training my mind and body to keep focused on the journey across my yard, noticing every small bud I usually rush by on my way to fulfill tasks.
I’m scheduling one day each month to be an active visitor in my garden: I’m not allowed to pull weeds, move yard structures, dig, mow, spray or prune. Just be present, rest, and play with my kids in the space we’ve worked so hard to grow.  

Sometimes my gracious wife still has to call me out when my mind gets consumed by my garden tasks. My butt-neighbor’s dog may still see some lights in my backyard, but now it’s me, six-month-old strapped into his backpack, stomping through weeds and catching fireflies with my 2 and 4 year old children.