My grandmother was the first person to introduce me to gardening. I was probably 5, and I remember her lovingly toiling in the garden she had created to remind her of her original in England. The species, the shape, even the soil. I thought this is beautiful, starting my lifelong path down the agricultural road. 45 years and many digressions aside, I find I still love it. I will say my view of it has changed however. Where the rhodos were perfectly pruned, I now find more beauty in wilder configurations. The box woods are out, and the living food hedges are in. The soil, perfectly cleansed of all weeds, leaves, and other debris is now a Salvador Dali, a riot of colours, shapes, and debris. This is a living environment. This is life. There are no straight lines in nature, there is no perfectly placed garden. Things grow where the seeds land, leaves fall and stay there, building humous for the years to come. Carbon is naturally sequestered and released with the waxing and waning of the seasons. This is my new beauty, this is my true world.
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