When I have my own garden
When I have my own garden
It is shared,
I agonise about ideas of ownership,
I want the garden all for myself and then remember myself is everyone.
I fiercely protect the rights of the non human being population already there,
And fret about the pulling up of plants from veg areas…
But then embodying a Boar and the ecosystem engineer in all of us,
I create disturbance,
And edge,
And death for life.
I am growing as much food as I possibly can,
I am growing as many flowers and leaves, so that no month is without brilliant colour,
And no tired disturbed winter nectar feeder or burnt out human is ever hungry,
I am building soil as fast as i can,
I am leaving thick tangles, dappled pools, sun drenched banks,
For many homes to be made.
Lawns are left for games and lounging and fruit leather drying,
Wrestling with Dogs.
I am pretending there are bears around, and growing for their diet,
There is be honey flowing and berries swelling,
I am faking it till they make it,
For a Bear to walk through my garden I would exchange a lot.
There is moving water and big old fish,
Like a Studio Ghibli movie.
I wash my vegetables and dishes and watch the carp slurp the crumbs,
There is so much swimming that we look like happy prune-humans,
And the Frogs, Toads and Newts watch from the reeds and wait for the stars.
There are viewing points through the protecting hedgerows,
Whether we look out at concrete oblivion or angry Sea,
We feel safe and held and ready for whatever comes,
With our outdoor kitchen,
And our compost loo with the softest toilet-paper Mullein.
There is the greatest shed of all,
A saxon longhouse of a building,
Dry and cosy with a great fire and room for many to sleep,
Swallows and House Martins and Swifts are in the rafters,
There’s Weasels in the walls.
Everything is compostable,
Keeping us in flow and gratitude,
So if we die and no humans continue,
The garden, the shed, the loo will retire back to Earth.
There will be faint mounds,
Rich with Mushrooms,
They and the Nettles and Blackcurrents will continue our stories,
This is where the toilet was,
This is where they coppiced,
This is where they slept.
This is a Willow tree,
On the place where they died.
A Brown Bear looks, eats a berry, squats, poos and continues gardening.