I don’t think plants can talk to us — let me get that straight. We don’t speak their language, and we don’t listen the way we listen to human shouts and cries and moans. We are all about the visuals. By the time a plant looks ill, wilted and yellowed, it’s already been struggling for some time.
It’s poetic to say that trees whisper and flowers smile in the spring sunshine. We like to humanise them, to anthropomorphise. And while it can be a beautiful way of relating to the natural world, it sometimes distracts us from what’s actually going on. A plant isn’t “happy” when it blooms — it’s responding to cues of temperature and daylight. Giving extra water because it “looks thirsty” might kill it. My silverbeet is wilting in the heat right now — but watering it would damage its roots, because the soil is already too hot. It'll come good as the day cools.
Seeing nature in human terms can ignore the profound complexity within it. Plants have their own astonishing ways of sensing and responding to the world, far beyond anything we do. They don’t need to be “like us” to be fascinating — in fact, they’re more fascinating when we let them be what they are.
And yet — as I walk around my garden, I can’t help but feel emotional. It’s easy to imagine the white sage waving goodbye, the crabapple kissing me as its petals dislodge in the breeze. I feel as though I’ve been part of this garden so long that it will mourn me as I mourn it — especially if the next owners don’t care for the irises, the banksia, the mulberry.
But the truth is, my garden will not notice my absence. It will keep growing, blooming, seeding, regardless of me. I will be the one who mourns.
This garden has taught me more than I can say — that I am subject to seasons too, that I have my own lifespan, my own cycles of growth and rest. Spring comes again and again, until one day it doesn’t. Here I have learned about resilience, nourishment, abundance.
I have been listening hard, though I’ve never been spoken to as such. Listening with my hands in the soil, to the birds, to the buzz of bees and fly by of dragonflies.
Listening is just noticing. Observing. Responding. Like the plants, I sense my environment and am nourished by the light, the rain.
Perhaps imagining them waving goodbye is enough. It doesn’t hurt to imagine.
This was in response the Hive Garden QOTW this week.
With Love,
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As a gardener, I truly feel this. We don't grow plants, we grow with them. the garden teaches us to respect nature timing. I also believe that listening means observing and caring even in silence.
It's nice to see plants spring to life when it is autumn here... it brings back a smile and love for the earth. Even the word "echinacea" makes me feel relaxed. The song made me feel real good and then I was reminded me that there is a yin and yang to nature and human civilization... beautiful and eerie.
There are a lot of mosquitoes nowadays in Korea and I was contemplating their niche on earth. When the bees and butterflies are gone, who will pollinate the few flowers remaining? One that could do the job is the mosquito. I hope it doesn't come to that. Anyway: SAVE THE BEES
I just can't imagine leaving your old garden... So much work and love and keeping it healthy went into it. And in the spring of all times!
My wife loves her flowers and plants. She spends a great deal of time in the morning after she wakes and in the evening outside on our back patio just sitting on the swing and admiring them. It saddens her that she has had to start cleaning up some of them in preparation for the coming change of seasons here. Many of them will be back next season though, like some of the people we now, some will not, like some of the people we know. Thus is life I guess. Who knows, I may not even make it to next season.
My chilli plants talk to me. They tell me to convert them into delicious sauces and give flavour to every dish. They're bloody prolific. I think only one has failed to survive the winter. It looks grim. The others will keep talking to me, through their new spring leaf growth, and hopefully flowers.
I need to harvest them again. They're heavy with delicious chilli! Getting hungry just thinking about them!
I wont pretend plants talk, but that bit about your silverbeet wilting in the heat yet not needing water really landed.
It reminded me that listening is noticing, like you said, and and sometimes doing nothing is the real care.
Your garDen reflection nudged me to read cues like shade, soil temp, wind, not moods.
Now if only I could stop imagining a blooming basil smiling at me while I reach for mustard on my greens :)
Beautiful flowers. I can't wait until it's finally spring g again 😅
I am often amazed at some of plants in your area, ones which I have never seen. Several in this post were unknown to me, but the most intriguing was that Banksia flower. Your photo is wonderful, and the photos I found in my search-engine were a bit "blah" after seeing your shot! That lovely orange in the middle, fading to delightful golden fringe around the edges is so pretty!
You really capture both the poetry and the reality of the garden. Even if plants don’t speak our language, simply being present with them teaches us so much, about patience, cycle and noticing the small wonders around us.
I also love flowers... When I don’t get to touch or take care of them I feel pity especially when I see them growing weak or full of weeds that need to be removed. It’s true that when we talk to them, the leaves seem to dance with the wind.