"Love Life to the Death and Keep Planting my Seeds"*

As I drove my girlfriend down Loop 1604 last Sunday, she commented on the lush patches of wildflowers that border the highway in April, signaling the beginning of spring.  She told me that in the busy urban center of San Antonio where she grew up, she rarely had the opportunity to enjoy the sight of the diverse, weed-like flowers which seem to inhabit every inch of undisturbed soil in the Texas Hill Country. 


Wild Western Horse-Nettle

Photo by Veronica Chavarria

I grew up in the suburbs on the Northern edge of the city, where San Antonio seems to swallow up a small town called Helotes. Helotes’population would double every day as I and hundreds of other San Antonians would travel to the heart of the town to attend the high school.

My girlfriend’s comment made me realize that, even though I've traveled daily through stretches of wild country road, I’d never really taken proper notice of the rich bouquets of Bluebonnets and Mexican Hats and Paintbrushes and Winecups that have periodically bordered every path that I’d ever traveled. 

Wild Evening Primroses

Photo by Jonathan Pillow

The wildflowers will take root in almost any conditions, and where one springs up, several more are sure to follow as the season progresses. By mid-spring, the Texas Hill Country is overspread with a brilliant, Technicolor blanket. 

Ever since I was a young boy following my grandma around the vegetable patch, I’ve been acutely aware of the primal connection which all living things share with the earth. Whether we like it or not, we are subject to Nature’s designs. As much as we humans like to bend the natural process to our will, there are certain laws that can’t be altered by scientific intervention. Advanced growing methods may allow us to increase the yield and speed the life cycle of plants, but a fruit will always be borne from a flower. That much is constant.

My mission in the garden has always been the growing and harvesting of edible plants. I never understood why so many gardeners wasted their efforts planting beds of flowers that would just grow and bloom and wither away without producing something of practical value.  My yearly ritual of germinating seeds and aiding them as they grow into the various fruits, herbs, and vegetables that fuel my existence always provides me with great comfort and satisfaction. It’s an encouraging moment when you harvest the fruits of your labor—actual, tangible evidence that for all of your endeavors, you’ve at least gotten something accomplished.

I think that my fascination with gardening is rooted in the feeling of control which the process gives me. I know that the growth of each seedling is ultimately decided by the forces of Nature, which are characteristically cold and ruthless. But I at least have the power to anticipate those forces and use my knowledge to create the best possible growing environment for each plant. I at least have the power to negotiate with the forces of nature and to find some sort of harmony between myself and the natural world.

Vegetables on My Porch

Photo by Jonathan Pillow

I know that in spite of all the unpredictable forces that affect my life, those sprouts are subject to my powers.  They will either wither and die or grow and prosper by my hand.  They are my plants, and as they grow larger and produce more fruit each year, they stand as evidence that my powers have increased and that I’ve gained a more stable footing in this world.

But as I watched the wildflowers pass out of sight in blurs of yellow and blue and pink and red that day, I was intrigued and I wondered how those flowers had previously failed to make an impression on me. I was stricken by their tendency to flourish without human assistance, embracing the beautiful chaos which seems to drive life onward at the same time as it wreaks havoc on all existence.

Wild "Mexican Hat" Flowers

Photo by Jonathan Pillow

The wildflowers didn’t struggle against their environment, nor did they waste their energy attempting to affirm their place in the world by producing fruit. They effortlessly found balance with nature, and even emulated its chaotic quality. Each flower lives out its simple existence contentedly, harboring no worries or regrets—no thirst for power.

I believe that these flowers have proven themselves invaluable, if only because of the lesson that I’ve taken from them. I wonder now if the only way to attain satisfaction in life may be to make peace with and even take part in the chaos.

Man’s fatal flaw may be his desire to intervene upon the natural order the world he inhabits. No other living thing sees it fit to impose their will upon the cycle of life, but we persist. The wildflowers remind me that some glorious things may rise out of Nature’s chaos, and that the pursuit of power and control must inevitably be met with regret and disappointment. My greatest power is my ability to find balance with the world, not the ability to manipulate it.

I want to be more like those wildflowers, which gently sway with the wind’s current while remaining firmly rooted in the Earth. I’d rather reserve my energy to tend to myself than spend it trying to remedy the present.

*Title quote from "Love Life" by Sean Daley (Atmosphere)