"Many things grow in the garden that were never sown there" ~Thomas Fuller, Gnomologia, 1732I really love a nice walk in the woods. I love to hike the nearby trails with my dog Captain leading the way. Captain is a Vizsla, a Hungarian Pointer. They are highly spirited, and highly affectionate dogs; curious and comical. He needs lots and lots of exercise, and considering the joy he so eagerly provides, It's the least we can do. In the process, he gets me the exercise I need and invariably leads me to the inspiration, peace and connection that can only be found in the great outdoors.
One trail we like to walk, lies right behind a neighborhood, and recently, as we followed the trail along, I noticed something. What I noticed was that presumably, the neighboring homeowners had cleaned up their yard waste and left it in piles in the woods; all perfectly compostable, giving back to the earth, what the earth had originally provided, so that The Master Recycler can use it to create something more. It's a wonderfully creative earth we inhabit, indeed.
One particular pile of refuse caught my eye. There, growing, in the composting matter, were the most beautiful pansies I had ever seen. Deep, deep purple, and as large as daisies. Having grown pansies of our own before, I had learned that they are typically considered annuals but under the right conditions, they often reseed and return the following year. We were blessed to have them return for nearly seven years.
The wind must have taken the seeds and gently placed them nearby, causing them to return every year since the conditions were right.
I wonder if the homeowners had any indication of what they were throwing away, or the potential their "useless" yard waste actually had to offer the right conditions for the re-birth of those beautiful pansies.
Seeds of rebirth are always present, although we may be unaware. Nature is constantly renewing itself all around us; it is a continual recycling process; repairing and renewing, hybridizing and healing itself, dying and resurrecting.
I considered removing those gorgeous, unexpected pansies and taking them home with me, but decided that maybe, since the conditions were obviously right, that they were meant to be there, and if I let them remain, they might reseed and populate, and a more beautiful forest trail it might become. It also left open the possibility of someone else discovering them, and appreciating their unexpected blessing.
The possibilities inherent in the unexpected are often the greatest blessings of all.
One man's refuse, is another man's unexpected treasure.
"Gardens always mean something else. Man absolutely uses one thing to say another." -Robert Harbison, Eccentric Spaces, 1977