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The Aesthetic Pantry: Trading Ornamentals for Edibles, by Matthew C.
Henri Frederic Amiel once said, “Any landscape is a condition of the spirit.”
While once standing on the kopjes of South Africa, gripped by the panoramic view of vast bushveld, scrub thorn, and columns of azure African sky, the condition of my spirit was one of breathtaking wonder at our God’s creation. When once overlooking the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, eyeing this deep and seemingly never ending chasm of layered and painted earth, the provision of my soul was that of mute and wide-eyed awe. Twice, the state of my existence soared on the wings of angels when my own “personal” landscape was narrowed to a small sterile hospital room in the maternity ward, where I witnessed the birth of my children. Whether on the grand scale of a vista or on the hinged moments of a few first breaths, our landscape, and our reaction to it, truly portrays the window to our soul.
After reading Mr. Amiel’s quote, the onetime energetic and youthful landscaping crew worker of my college years resurfaced. I asked myself, “Could the same ‘condition of spirit’ hold true for the conventional sense of the word that we know of as “landscaping”? When most Americans think of the word “landscaping”, we normally think of neatly ordered rows of flowers, shrubs, and trees aesthetically modifying the visible features of a given area. Holding true to Mr. Amiel’s quotation above, even this type of landscaping can portray just as much about us as our reaction to the first time our own “personal” landscape moved within our spirit. More so, if Mr. Amiel is accurate, then the condition of the American spirit today sorely lacks the want, the need, and the drive of what we should all be striving for-sufficiency.
From the age of the pondering philosophers of the Greek Empire to the fashionably emulated and manicured streets of Paris and London, landscaping has and always will be one of those unexplainable acts that just exist and continues unerringly. Whether it is because of the familiar pang of jealousy as your own property is compared to the next, to accentuate the beauty of what already exists, or to increase the monetary value of an area, holes will be dug, plants will be placed, and sprinklers will give life to our visions or our greed. While each new foot of growth gives us an economical or covetous grin, that which is named “sufficiency” frowns down. What will happen when the day comes when a morsel of food far surpasses the value of our property or the nurturing of our ego?
During my tenure in the landscaping industry, I have witnessed people emulate the lawn of the White House, mimic designs of their neighbors, and even replicate the lawn of their childhood homes. I have performed jobs barely worth the effort, and I have completed tasks that cost as much as a low income family makes in one year. When I look back on those years with a more observing eye, there is one underlying theme that resonated throughout each job.
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