My Garden is My Haven

In a life ruled by chronic pain, it is pure wonder to step through the back door and into my own haven, my own little piece of the Earth.

It’s by no means a large garden or a well-groomed one; it’s wild and unkempt and full of evergreen bushes in raised beds.

I have a wildlife pond that, in the summer months, is surrounded by marginals: king cups, lilies, water mint, and marsh grasses. The water is teeming with insects—water slaters crawl over underwater rocks and leaves, daphnia flit in saltatory motion, the larvae of air-borne insects such as mayflies and caddisflies wriggle through the water, pond skaters skim the surface, and water boatmen paddle through, using their back legs like oars as they carry a bubble of air to help them breathe as they swim. I can stare at the water for hours.

Many of my evergreen shrubs start to flower at this time of year. The thorny pyracantha is covered in tiny white flowers; the fuchsia nods its cerise and purple heads in the gentlest breeze; and the ceanothus, of which we have several varieties, bloom in varying shades of blue. The honeysuckle that climbs the side of our catio is just beginning to flower and will soon bathe the garden with its delicious fragrance in the evening air.

Our garden is usually abuzz with insects by this time of year, but this year everything is late. Last year’s unusually hot summer, a mild winter, and a long, cold, and wet spring have affected the natural order of things. The bumble and honey bees are only just appearing, and I am seeing very few butterflies and moths.

Our bushes and oak tree are full of the chirps and twitters of birds. Wrens, blue tits, goldfinches, sparrows, and blackbirds fill the days with their merry tunes. Wood pigeons have fledged twice this year, and collared doves, blackbirds, and sparrows frequently nest.

Preservation is key.

Finally:

As nighttime descends,
Insects hum around the pond.
Bats take to the wing.

And my connection to Mother Earth is complete.