Spring blossom. It’s enchanting. It emanates a spirit so full of life-giving potential, you want to inhale it. By the lung full. Store it to remind you when skies are leaden and the wind is bitter, that spring comes back year in and year out, and there’ll be blossom again.
It is because in those winsome petals, we find such a sense of abundance, nourishment, the bearing of fruit?
Or is it because it’s so fleeting, these trees laden with blossom? Not long before spring’s capricious breezes scatter the petals and the budding fruit emerges. Not long either before a long line of predators take up their position. Bees and flies, wasps and birds. Not long before the fruit drops rotting to the ground.
We have a back garden full of fruit and nut trees inherited from the previous owner. Our efforts at farming our urban paradise have been notable for their failure.
We believed that organic farming meant chook poo, bush mulch and watering from our stored water tank. The parrots laughed at us. So apparently did every fruit-munching critter on the planet.
Our apples spouted worms with pride. The rock hard pears fell from the tree in their spotty teens. The kiwifruit bloomed by the thousand and then as hopeful yellow berries withered on the vine.
The parrots screeched through the almonds in a morning, leaving shredded evidence of their feast all over the garden. The grapes could have been packeted directly from their stalks, like raisins. The macadamia dropped a paltry ten nuts as did the hazelnut.
If we were lucky, we reached a dozen ripe-ish figs before the cockatoos polished off the rest. Thousands of black olives stained the brick pathway.
When we did have a record breaking apricot harvest, we picked, ate and gave away to our heart’s content. But failed to make the hundreds of jars of preserved fruit, we fondly imagined we’d make. Much of our harvest made it’s way back to the compost pit.
The moral of this spring story? The idea of an abundant organic garden, of us aproned and stirring vats of delicious produce, pruning and budding and doing whatever one does to keep the harvest was a dream. Not an intention.
Our intentions are elsewhere. Where they have to be. By the time they turn to an urban farm, we’ll most likely have downsized to an apartment with a courtyard and a small pot of parsley. Which at the moment has taken up residence in every corner of our unattended garden farm. To spite us, it might not take well to a pot.
Like our efforts at jam-making, when we spread ourselves too thin and without intention, we are but a watery version of our flavour-packing selves. While we were busy being bad farmers, we were taking up the brain-width which should have been applied elsewhere.
What the birds and the bees taught us
It takes courage to chose a single path, walk it with dedication and resolve not to be distracted with life’s side shows. Side shows are mostly a metaphor for procrastination.
It takes courage to do the hard work of clarity and work out your intention. Trying to be self sustainable, as noble an idea as it is, was not even on the radar of what we had to do. That meant we could never succeed at it.
Clarity is a beautiful place and intention is a state of mind that compels action. Together they create a still place that shuts out the noise and shuts up the Lizard. That prepares you for the ride. The momentum takes over and the good work begins.
Have you been distracted by a side show in your life? Do you have an intention for the work you must do? If not, do you have the courage to do the hard work of clarity to unearth the best you you can ever be?
If you would like a little hand-holding through the process, give me a call. +61 408 935 905