I want it big. I want it beautiful. I want it NOW! I am not by nature a competitive person, or particularly greedy or selfish, at least I like to think so. But I am already beyond impatient to have the garden of my dreams: voluptuous veggies that make your mouth water at first sight, luscious herbs whose aroma penetrates the entire room, exotic flowers whose beauty could make you weep. A magical place somewhere between my two favorite childhood books: The Secret Garden, and Where the Wild Things Are. Why is it those things you most desire take the longest to realize?

In the South it’s already time to order seeds and pre-plan the spring garden. We’re not even a year here yet, and at the beginning I promised I would cut myself some slack regarding my inevitable crop failures. I said I’d be happy with whatever I managed to get, I am laughably inexperienced, after all. I gaze at the neighbors’ perfectly manicured and vole-free, rabbit-proof garden plot producing an ample surplus of my own failures: winter squash and green beans galore, pecks of perfect peppers. They have all been gardeners for decades, obviously I cannot compare my own measly efforts to theirs, but of course, I do. They are happy to offer advice, but it’s hard sometimes to listen when you are so eager to just DO.

Handy hubby must realize to what degree I am in way over my head. For reasons I am not entirely sure, he seems enthusiastic to help me along. Is it his love for fresh veggies or for me that has him losing sleep over greenhouse designs and irrigation systems? Or maybe he is afraid the famous Southern expression might otherwise apply to us: When Momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy!

I would ask him, but what if by asking, he starts to question that himself, and that line of questioning then leads him to the realization he would rather spend the time, money and effort on his future workshop. So, I’ll quietly and quite gladly take whatever help I can get. Maybe I’ll even slow down this time, learn to ask more, and maybe even try again to listen to the voices of experience.

From Erasmus to Mythbusters and in between through scores of lyrics and pop references, the proverb “a rolling stone gathers no moss” exists in dozens of languages – but people, times, and cultures make its interpretation a real challenge.

In a literal sense, Discovery Channel’s Mythbusters confirmed it is, in fact, exactly true that after six months of rolling stones they did indeed stay free of moss. 

But in a figurative sense, is moss desirable, or undesirable?  As a child I used to collect moss in the woods behind our house and make a moss garden tenderly displayed on a fallen tree limb.  After that though, I mostly stopped noticing the moss.  After leaving for college, I became the rolling stone.  Since 2001 I have moved 11 times and in the previous decade that number was significantly higher.  It sounds alarming to me now, but I know loads of people who have moved almost as much.

Like our culture, I see that gathering moss slows you down, and our culture has little room for slow.  To our modern cultures of the West mobile people are agile, adaptable, go-getters.  But to the ancient cultures of the Far East it was believed that nomads avoided responsibilities and did not acquire real bonds, wealth, or wisdom.  Maybe both are wrong, and both are right.

Mosses started fascinating me again since moving to the country.  I am continually marveling at the depth of their colors, the incredible variety of textures, the continual changes through light and season, and especially their sturdy delicacy.  If there is Yin and Yang in this proverb, then the Yin is the moss, and the Yang is the rock, and as all things Yin and Yang, they transform each other.

I suppose that means there is a time for collecting moss, and a time for shaking it free. While it sounds hokey to say like the rock and the moss, the Yin and the Yang, life is all about balance, well, I think a wee bit of hokey might help this pokey world go ’round.