About forsythias, roses and winter rest
This week in the Niagara region, something changed in the gardens. Bright yellow bushes adorn the streets; forsythias are in bloom.
For gardeners, forsythias are a reminder that it’s a good time to do certain garden tasks, such as pruning rose bushes.
For me, forsythia also signals that we’re moving away from preparatory garden work and into early spring. In other words, it’s the real end of the winter pause.
Winter was a time of rest not only for the gardens, but also for the gardener. A time to break away from routine, from being physically in the garden, into a time of separation, peace, and quiet.
That shift from winter to spring, from non-action to action, is a cyclical one. One that, over the years as a gardener, I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know.
Winter rest can take a few forms.
Sometimes, while I’m away from the gardens, I’m really away. I’m thinking of things that don’t grow and bloom. I’m distracted by perhaps Kusama’s Mirror Room. I am away from the garden physically, but also in mind.
However, sometimes in winter, I find myself thinking of gardens, remembering the past season, or dreaming of what could come next.
But whether I’m away from gardens and thinking about them or not, I am not working in the garden, and so I’m not affecting what grows there.
After a couple of months of time away, being able to be in a garden and change things shifts the mode completely.
Now I am in gardens.
Sometimes, while I’m pruning standard hydrangeas, I’m thinking about the garden and its shape for years to come. Sometimes, while I’m raking, I’m thinking of other things, such as a mirror rooms.
But something has changed.
Now I can affect the garden. Now I’m in spring.
When I come back to gardens in spring, the break has given me fresh eyes and a fresh mind. Something that seemed like a difficult problem at the end of the season in fall now has a clear solution. I may not have thought about it explicitly, but the pause away has given me a chance to look anew.
In garden work, this pause is forced. In winter, I can’t dig and plants don’t grow, and so there is no way I can garden.
However, other creative tasks don’t have this embedded rhythm. I’ve found it beneficial in gardening, but it is helpful in other disciplines to take a step back in one way or another.
In visual arts, a common technique is to look at your work through a mirror, or upside down, or to step away from it. You are not changing the work. You are changing your relationship to it.
When writing this blog post, I jotted down a few ideas earlier last week and came back to it after a few days to fine-tune to edit. The days away made clear what was essential and what could be trimmed.
Short pauses are important and helpful, and relatively approachable to implement. However, longer pauses, such as a full winter, are also helpful.
I’ve taken a few months off of a project and come back to it with a clearer look at what really worked and what needed changing. Some things only become obvious with time.
It can be a little daunting to leave a project, especially one that you’re invested in, for a long period of time. Questions arise. Will I come back to it? Will I still feel motivated? Will this pause prevent me from completing it, or understanding what I meant in the first place?
Taking a break is not easy, and it requires trust.
This trust is not something that appears overnight. But taking small pauses and seeing their benefits compounds over time can lead to knowing that if you take a larger break, you will still be there, and the insights gained will benefit the quality of the work.
Some things will have to be let go of, and some things will rise clearly to the surface. It’s all part of the process.
So here in Grimsby, forsythias are blooming. It’s time to prune the roses.
There is an old, scraggly rose bush that I’ve been wondering about. I planted this rose late last year and didn’t know which way to take it.
With fresh eyes, I can now see which parts are to be kept, and which parts are to be removed. What shape I want this rose to be, and how it might frame the window behind.