Getting to Know You

After spending several days of stooped labor doing earthwork, again often on my hands and knees when necessary or simply more comfortable, it was a pleasure to do the same in service to my dymondia, who were badly in need of weeding. Ever since I planted them, they have suffered from a weed infestation, often from something called purslane, other times by simple grasses, that had a tendency to entwine themselves, root and stem, inside of the dymondia's tightly clustered leaves, making weeding a painstaking task. Because the work was so tedious and demanding, and because I have hundreds of these little mounds to tend to, I never did a proper job of it, until today.

Making the difference was my previous tenure with the soil in the back. Barefoot and on hands and knees, I finally found it possible to give each plant the attention it deserved, and to my shame, this was the first time that I actually considered, and approached, each dymondia plant as a separate being, and it has changed my relation with them.

Now, my regarding each of them as a separate being is problematic, because in fact each 'plant' is probably two, three or even more separate plants that just happen to be clustered together to make a plantable unit.

An experiment with pine trees comes to mind. In one case, seeds from a single tree were planted next to each other. They extended their roots only so far as to not infringe on their siblings territory, into their brother or sister's root system, that is. In the second case, the planting was repeated, but with seeds taken from several trees, meaning that the seedlings did not have a sibling relationship. In contrast to the first group, these plants did not respect each other's boundaries, and fought with each other for soil, water and nutrients. I wonder if nurseries are attentive to this dynamic, if in fact it is a wide spread phenomenon, and compose their little six pack cells in such a way as to promote harmonious and symbiotic relations among the seedlings.

In any case, it felt good, and easy, to spend an hour or two on my hands and knees, shifting slowly from one plant to another, cleaning each one of competing plants and dressing the soil around each one. I have to say that I had some mixed feelings about what I did to the weeds, especially because purslane can be quite pretty, and I feel somewhat stupid for killing the plants that grow so well, at least much more quickly than the dymondia, punishing them for their success.

But the ontology of plants being so vigorous, and so different from animal ontology, it seems only intelligent and prudent to respect the difference. I do hold plants to be persons, but they are certainly not humans and I must attend to that distinction. Still, it felt good to take care of each little plant, and I am glad I finally took the time to do it.

There has always been something very affecting to me about the prostration of Catholic priests during certain ceremonies, and a little research reveals that the assumption of this posture is found in many religions. I have to say that it lent a special intimacy to my tending, and I have often thought that the world would be a kinder place if everyone went barefoot more often.

Here is Gerard Manley Hopkins on the matter:

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;

And wears man's smudge and share's man's smell: the soil

Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod