When I was a teenager, the local museum opened a new wing
dedicated to modern art. I recall going with my parents to explore the modern
architectural design featuring the type of art that just made my father shake
his head in bewilderment as my mother proceeded to nod, ponder, and utter, “Now
isn’t that interesting?”
One painting in particular struck me. I knew Jackson Pollock, which means I knew
enough to say, “Hey, that’s like Jackson Pollock!” The piece featured lots of
splotches in a cacophony of dripping strings of paint. But that’s not what struck me. I felt sort of ho hum about the apparent flinging
of loaded paint brushes (like, who hasn’t done that?), but experienced deep and
honored respect for the title: The space between my head and the alarm clock.
Modern art: now I get it.
And art imitates life.
Our context may change, but the buzzing doesn’t stop. Just the other day my family stood with
reverence as we said goodbye to our beloved pigs, Piggins and Piglididee, who
were crated and loaded on a farm trailer to be driven off by their new owners. Ending our time on the farm (wanna buy a farm
in central Va.? I know of a GREAT one
for sale!), we are divesting ourselves of our livestock. P&P are now
ensconced lovingly in their new home befriended by goats, chickens, one of our
donkeys, and more importantly, a 4 y.o. boy and a 6 y.o. girl. I will admit,
the other members of my family were more mournful of this parting. But don’t get me wrong; it’s not that I don’t
dearly love the swine, the buzzing was too much of a distraction.
They even churn their own mulch. |
Like the space between the artist’s head and his alarm
clock, my gardening senses pulled me from the imploring porcine faces to the
pen from which they had squealed. The buzz altered as my neck rotated towards
the now silent earth. It worked its way into a beautiful melodious tone as my body
followed suit. As I gazed with complete attention to the empty pigsty, the
voices around me seemed more distant. The slow realization that P&P left
behind the most glorious of garden soil pulled me into the pen. The rest of my
family, as if walking to the beat of a dirge, followed the trailer as it pulled
away. I, with much fewer lamentations,
galloped to the garden to hoist my shovel, bringing it straight back to my new
patch of land.
Digging into the rich earth, I let out a wail that seemingly
affirmed to my family that the grief of losing P&P was too much. However, to their surprise, they came running
to discover my new find of Titanoworm was vocally greeted with an overflowing and
complete outpouring of joy. Like my dad, they shook their heads wondering what
I’m all about. No doubt it will take a
fellow gardener to get it.
HO de phone! Big Daddy with his less hulkish comsoiliots |
The simple joy of planting. Thanks P&P for the lovely soil! |