Random Thoughts 6/1/21

This is the first post I've managed to write in over three weeks. It's not for a lack of trying - I've spent quite a bit of time researching, outlining, and then deleting posts, feeling little compulsion - and less ability - to put thoughts to screen in any useful way.

The news of late is disheartening, disconcerting, and discouraging. My frustration level with the goings-on in various red states and with Republicans politicians is through the roof, and not being able to dump all of that out of my head has been interfering with my mental health.

Fortunately, I've had ample time in my garden over the past several weeks, which has been my saving grace. Weeding, planting, transplanting, deadheading, mulching and the like - the simple tasks - keep me moving forward. Major transitions in the garden - moving and installing structures, paths, and edging, allow me to prove to myself that I can finish things, and that my writing paralysis is not an all-encompassing inability to function.

And while I do get help from My Sweet Baboo now and then, my garden is 'my' garden, and it's up to me to make it work. I know that it does, because people regularly stop to check it out. I see smiling people, looking closely at different plants, pointing at flowers and what not, and I hear them talking, to themselves or whoever might be with them, about the garden.

If' I'm outside working, they'll call to me, and tell me how much they like the flowers, all the different plants, and how it makes them happy. They'll call me over to tell me they make a point to walk by at least once a week, to see what's new.

They tell me about their gardens, their mom's garden, their grandmother's garden. They ask for help, what to do with such-and-such a weed, or what the purple plants are, or that big bush over there, can they grow one of those, too? I've even been asked, more times than I can count, if I live in the house, or if I'm 'the gardener.' I smile and say it's both. They don't mention the weeds, and they don't see the long list of tasks I have yet to start, and that helps me smile, too.

There's room for everything in my garden. Bulbs, perennials, and annuals. Ground covers and vines. Trees and shrubs. Colorful flowers and glorious foliage. Aromatics and unscented blooms. Plants for all seasons, from very early spring to the last breath of fall. Plants that thrive in full sun, in full shade, and somewhere in between, which is where I thrive, too.

With all the hours I've been spending in the garden, I've come to the realization that I've been looking at Republicans all wrong. They're not evil people from the dark side, from some bizzaro world, a parallel America. Well, maybe they're that, but they're also gardeners. It's true.

Look at all the time they've spent - years, when you think about it - sowing seeds. Seeds of doubt. Seeds of hate. Seeds of fear. Seeds of anger. Seeds of rage. Seeds of control. Seeds of division. Seeds of conspiracy.

They're gardeners, carefully tending their crops, nurturing their harvest, and reaping the rewards.

They are passionate about ripping out plants that are the wrong color, the wrong zone, the wrong fill-in-the-blank. They are passionate about making sure they only nurture the right plants, the ones that will thrive under their particular care. Poor performers? Tossed. They cover their crops with manure, layers deep, and feed them a regular, stringent diet designed to achieve uniformity, nature be damned. And invasive species that dare set foot in the garden? The only method they know is a path of scorched-earth eradication. They've no patience with trying to understand, nurture or rehabilitate; no understanding that one man's weed is another man's flower.

They're gardeners. Just like me.

Except I'm growing love, sharing joy, spreading happiness. I've got the garden that a man told me he walks an extra mile with his dogs just so he can stop and look. I've got the garden that a woman just had to tell me about some flowers she saw a couple of streets over, and gave me the name of them because she thought they'd be a great addition to my collection.

Now, before you get your trowels and hoes all up in arms, I'm not throwing every single Republican onto the woodpile. That would be unfair, and I don't want to label them; I'd rather let them label themselves. Think back to Hillary Clinton's 'deplorables' comment. We've heard it a million times, but people forget she said half of Former Guy's supporters were deplorables - so if someone chose the label, they probably owned the label.

The same is true here. Are all Republicans the kind of gardeners who sow divisive, hateful seeds? Of course not, any more than all Democrats or non-affiliated people (that's what I am, these days) garden the way I do - hopefully, impulsively, inclusively, imperfectly. But if you do choose the label, if you are one of those deplorable Republican gardeners, I feel sorry for you.

If you're a Republican and you walk around your party's garden, and you see the goals and the methods and practices used to try and achieve them, I really wish you would ask the folks tending the garden why they have chosen to plant so much darkness and fear, so much anger and bitterness.

At the very least, I hope you know that there are other seeds your party could be sowing.