How does the grapevine know?

Just a quick note before I start my next round of activity for the day. I'm an amateur gardener - extremely amateur; the kind who likes to look at a nice garden, but prefers not to do the work herself. Actually, that's not entirely true; it's just that I'm SO busy, I seldom get time, on a regular basis, to work in the garden. When I do, it's limited to pulling out a couple of weeds and filling up the beds or pots with compost. Every now and then, I really get in the mood for gardening, and then I like to plant new seedlings and play around with the potting soil and compost, finishing it all off with watering. Now that's the part I really enjoy. In fact, anything involving water. I hate housework, especially the tasks that involve dust, because I'm allergic to it.

But one thing about the garden fascinates me more than the pretty colours of the blossoms and the cool shade of the trees - I'm fascinated by the lessons I've learnt from my garden. I've learnt from my garden that there's a natural cycle to things, and that if we wait long enough, there'll be another opportunity to experience something, usually within 12 months.

I've toyed with the concept of "How does the grapevine know?" for a while. The grapevine starts showing signs of life round about July, and by this time of the year, late October, it's full of bunches of ant-sized baby grapes. By December they're recognisable as grapes, with the vine filled with vibrant green leaves, and by January/February,we're picking and eating the fruit.

The thing is, by March/April, the vine looks as dead as can be, with the branches all gnarled and dried, as though it hadn't been part of an amazing life-giving process. And throughout winter I look at it and I wonder,..... is it REALLY dead, this time round, or is it going to start reviving in a few months' time? And when it does, year after year, I ask myself: "How does the grapevine know? "

The garden teaches me that when I plant a seed and nurture it, it will grow. When I neglect it, it won't. If I take good care of it for long enough, it will give me something beautiful in return - sometimes, shades of green that make me stare in disbelief, sometimes edible fruit, and sometimes blossoms so stunning, I can't believe such beauty exists right in my yard!

My garden teaches me that when I plant tomatoes, it will yield tomatoes, and when I plant daisies, it will give me daisies. My garden teaches me to be specific - don't plant daisies if you want roses - then you need to take the necessary steps to plant roses!

My garden teaches me that when I let the weeds grow, uncontrolled, they'll flourish and take over, simply because they've been given the space and time to do so.

My garden teaches me that it's not just what I can see that can calm me and put a smile on my face: when the wind wafts the delicate smell of lavender towards me, or I cut some and put it inside the house, I know, without a doubt, that beauty is to be experienced with all my senses.

When I was pregnant with my daughter, in 1998, a very good friend gave me two pot plants, and they were clivia plants. Five years later, they bloomed for the first time, and have done so every year. We gathered the seeds and nurtured them indoors and now we have a whole lot of clivia. And everytime they bloom, they take my breath away!

I also know that some flowers bloom for a long time, while others lose their petals very quickly, which is another lesson: I try not to take good fortune/blessings for granted; when we have them, we should enjoy them. Carpe diem!

I think the most important lesson I've learnt from my garden is that, when you see that you've messed up, and you make a decision to do something about it, life does give you another chance. If my garden looks terrible, from being neglected, and I consciously set about changing what I don't like, I'm guaranteed to have a beautiful garden within a relatively short space of time. My garden always forgives me and allows me to try again. My garden doesn't judge me.

My garden knows me, and reveals to me its beauty when I need it most.