Some things are universal—or nearly so–and show up in every culture. Chicken soup is one of them, even if the “chicken” in the soup is some other variety of fowl. Gardens are another. The urge to garden has remained strong through civilization’s many travails, including wars, natural disasters, dislocation and urbanization. The deliberate cultivation of previously wild plants probably began when someone who wanted a reliable food supply decided to try growing, rather than foraging for food. Eventually humans warmed to the idea of growing plants specifically for natural beauty. Along the way, a small subgroup of gardeners with more hubris than wisdom, used horticulture to demonstrate their abilities to control Nature. Of course, Nature always wins, but hubris—in the garden and elsewhere–persists like poison ivy.
The Nature controllers may impress with their tricks, manicured plants and fantastic structures, but it is really the plain dirt gardens who make the world better. I thought of this when I read a review of a short English book, Gardens Behind the Lines, 1914-1918, by Anne Powell. The book, which is an expansion of an article that first appeared in the British journal, Hortus, describes the gardens and plantings made by soldiers amidst the numbing brutality of World War I. The conflict, now fading into the haze of history, was notable for the number of destructive weapons and tools used for the first time. These included barbed wire, machine guns, tanks, large-scale trench warfare and poison gas. When the shooting finally stopped, the death toll included nine million soldiers and seven million civilians. Many more people in both categories were grievously wounded but survived, often with what was then called “shell shock” and would now be classified as post-traumatic stress disorder or PTSD.
But gardening persisted in the face of barbarity, with the native plants that were transplanted around encampments complementing the seed-grown species like ornamental sweet peas, stocks and pansies, tenderly raised from seeds sent by friends and relatives. Anne Powell is English and she focuses on the efforts of British troops, for whom the plants and flowers were a reminder of home. Tending the beds created around billets, near flooded-out trenches and beside abandoned buildings, was also therapeutic for men and not a few women who were exposed daily to carnage and the prospect of imminent death.
The irony of course, was that the gardens’ creators were inevitably redeployed, wounded or killed in action and their little gardens abandoned. I like the quote, from British soldier, Lieutenant Edwin Campion Vaughan, who, when notified that he would be reassigned to another area, left his plants in the hopes that “someone will get the benefit of them.”
World War I may be a century in the past, but we still face a world full of violence, hatred, environmental degradation and other ills. Plants are not a panacea, but they are a civilizing force. I am always inspired by the stories of the so-called “guerilla gardeners”—dedicated horticulturists who grow plants in all kinds of waste spaces, from the edges of parking lots to triangular traffic islands in the middle of busy intersections. The constant is that the gardens or plantings are created and tended without the permission of the authorities or the individual entities that own the spaces. If those spaces are fenced off and locked up, the guerillas may bombard them with compressed balls of seeds and dirt that can be tossed over barriers and left to germinate and bloom. The seeds are usually those of tough, no-fuss annuals and the results are islets of civility in oceans of abandoned soil.
Guerilla gardeners here, in England and in many other countries, have turned neglected urban tree pits into miniature flowery enclosures and created informal community gardens on swathes of dirt between apartment buildings and the streets. The immediate goal is to replace neglect and hopelessness with something that is beautiful, creative and environmentally friendly. The long term goal is to beautify neighborhoods, empower residents and demonstrate that plants plus people equals better quality of life, even in the most benighted settings.
Of course, the guerilla gardens are controversial because they act in violation of the rights of property owners–even those whose neglect borders on the criminal. But still, it seems to me a very gentle kind of lawlessness, as it does not appear to harm anyone. In fact, it may help the covert gardeners find inspiration in otherwise unpromising lives, not to mention brightening the days of people who get enjoyment out of seeing the unlikely plantings. You can read all about it in the 2008 book, On Guerilla Gardening: A Handbook for Gardening Without Boundaries. The author, Richard Reynolds, is one of the pioneers of the movement, who plants by night and blogs by day. His book combines a bit of guerilla gardening history with inspiring tales of groundbreaking–literally and figuratively–plant lovers who have made it their mission to spread the plant wealth to unlikely places.
Like the World War I soldier/gardeners, guerilla gardeners often must leave their work to the mercy of a sometimes uncaring world. But as with any horticultural endeavor, a big part of the pleasure is in the process. And that process is valuable to society, especially in perilous times. When we tend to living things, we tend to our own humanity.