By Tessa Chenoa Ownbey, Somervell County Master Gardener
At a recent workday, Donna Hagar and I were cutting back Autumn Sage. “Some people like this smell,” she said. It was a simple statement, but it surprised me. It had not occurred to me NOT to like the smell of sage. I know it’s a matter of personal nostrils, but to me, nearly everything in a garden smells good. My favorite is the smell of tomato vines as I brush up against them. But I also love the smell of fresh, damp earth, the smell of rain about to come, the smell of the “weeds” crushed and cast aside.
Last year, an intern at work planted a “sensory garden.” It will be a great teaching tool, I am sure. Truly, though, isn’t every garden a sensory garden? Along with the smell of damp earth, there is also the cool feel of that soil on my bare hands because I can’t bear to weed or plant with my gloves on. (There is also the shock of pain of a fire ant sting because I can’t bear to wear those gloves, but sacrifices must be made!) I always embrace the rosemary as I pass it by, letting the fragrant oil cover my arms and shirt with lingering scent. The peppermint and lemon grass I grow on my porch always get a little “fluff” as I walk by and inhale their scent.
And so many things to delight our sense of sight in a garden! The bees and butterflies hovering, creating all the future life; an orb spider web glistening in the morning sun; the sun glowing through the petals of the marshmallows or the Mexican petunias; the brightness of a newly revealed carrot; and oh! The intricacy of the passion flowers; and look here! The shiny marble in the path that I know I put in the bee waterer – only a raccoon could have moved it in the night – and so my sense of humor is also delighted.
So many textures to satisfy our sense of touch: the roughness of mulch, the spongy, cool dampness of healthy soil, the fuzziness of mullein, the bumpiness of ornamental gourds, the smoothness of tomatoes and cucumbers; the warmth of the sun; and the refreshing coolness of a micro-climate.
Of course so much to taste! Warm, sun-soaked tomatoes straight off the vine; or the zing of the cherry tomatoes I pop in my mouth as I walk by; a cold drink of water with lemon – and cucumbers and mint straight from the garden; blackberries full of warm purple juice that runs down my chin; the tangy lemon flavor of wood sorrel. And the mosquito I accidentally swallowed. (It really didn’t have much taste.)
The sounds of a garden have to be thought about…birds chattering away around us; the buzz and hum of insects and hummingbirds; the sound of a spade breaking soil or roots; the bell-like clank of the shovel hitting limestone; my own breath, reminding me that I, too, am a part of the garden.
So often we focus on the productivity of our gardens, and of course that is a sign of success. But there is this, more spiritual success…our connection with the land itself, our sensory knowledge and enjoyment of it, and this, more than bounty, fulfills us.