Gardening in Harmony with Nature

One change I've noticed in my behavior since moving to the country from the city is that I'm starting to adapt to nature's rhythm and timing. It's as if I'm becoming more in tune with the seasons and gardening in harmony with nature rather than fighting against it.  Instead of trying to force the vegetable plants earlier under cold frames, I'm waiting until the soil feels warm to the touch; instead of ticking off dates on a seed planting calendar, I'm walking around the orchard and noting the swell of the pear and peach tree buds and planting the cool weather vegetables accordingly.

Nature has its own timing and pace. Yesterday afternoon John and I took Shadow for a walk.  The sunlight was warm but the breeze was cool. We walked past our neighbor's huge cattle farm. It is several hundred acres of rolling green hills dotted with a large herd of pure and mixed Black Angus cattle.  There's one mama we nicknamed "mean Mommy" not because of her behavior but because she has white markings on her face that make her look like she's scowling all the time.  Well, Mean Mommy had her calf this week. A tiny, fuzzy little future bull frolicked by her side.  Each day this week we noticed more and more calves joining the herd. You can spot them a mile off by their spindly little legs and furry baby coats and their silly bovine behavior.  They jump and leap for joy, and just as suddenly collapse in a heap of exhaustion, snuggling up to whichever cow is closest while Mama gazes patiently from across the field.

John asked me if I knew whether cattle gave birth during specific times. Did they have more babies at night or during the day? I had no idea.  Watching the newborn calves at play, and listening to the trilling burble of bluebirds returning to the fields after their winter hiatus, I began to realize that all around me nature unfolded her patterns according to her own plan. We think we've got nature all figured out though, don't we? We learn every day about new advances in science that do miraculous things. 

Yet I can't help but marvel at the soft fuzzy muzzle of the calf, the delightful song of the bluebird, the daffodils breaking the hard clay soil among the apple trees in the orchard.

I find myself watching the weather reports, noting the moon phases, and planting according to both - but more based on weather than anything else.  Yesterday I spent a few minutes and planted beet seeds, broccoli rabe, Swiss chard, various lettuces and radishes, all to take advantage of another weather front moving in that promises a day and a half of rain.  Rain; we live by this rhythm of water, the soft sound of rain and the way it nurtures the garden.

Gardening in harmony with nature makes me slow down. This spring, I feel more connected to the gardens here at Seven Oaks than ever before, as if I am slowly but surely coming to know a little bit of this land, and it of me.