The lush pastel palettes that splashed across our spring gardens just a few months ago have segued into a mass of straw-colored lawns and limp plants that look like they're ready to be thrown into the garbage heap. After the first few weeks of trying to maintain the greenness within the drought restrictions of our communities, we realize we already have lost the battle. All we can do is resolutely limit ourselves to using drip hoses or some variation to salvage the most valuable of our trees, bushes and perennials.
Much of the country is in the midst of a major drought, and gardeners in the East, where I live, have dealt with these conditions for five of the last six summers. Most of us have been forced to come to grips with this water-challenged situation by now. For some gardeners, this fluke or pattern of nature takes on an air of grave importance.
But among the gardeners I know, a different sensibility prevails. It's an attitude of expectancy, mixed with curiosity and even optimism. You see, for gardeners who have worked their own piece of land year after year and experienced the awesome power of nature several times before, this summer's parched landscape is no surprise. These people have a sense of equanimity from having come head to head with the beauty and stillness of nature. They no longer perceive themselves as having lost the fight if parts of their gardens succumb to the lack of water. They don't complain about what is dying or how terrible things look. To the contrary, these folks engage in gleeful conversations about the specimens that have heartily survived the drought or the latest efficient watering device they have rigged up. They are too occupied taking note of the edgy beauty of one of their thriving succulents nestled up against the dried-up seedpod of a perennial that normally would be in full bloom to spend any time on the "what ifs" of this summer of 2002.
This family of gardeners shares a single piece of knowledge: that they are not in charge. In a world that values mastery and efficiency, they have learned an invaluable lesson. They know they can work hard, do everything technically correct and even possess the flair of an artist in their gardens -- but when it comes to the big strokes, the outcome of the garden is not in their hands, but in the hands of nature or God.
