Last year I came across a book titled Orange Mint and Honey. It was one of those rushed purchases that we book lovers often make right before the bookstore closes, and I had no idea what the book was about; it was simply in my hand and I liked the cover. So I bought it. Am I ever glad I did. It is a wonderful, richly woven story that’s deserving of its place on my permanent shelf. I encourage you to buy it and see for yourself. Of course when I read Carleen’s book I had no idea I’d ever get to know her, but thanks to social media, I have!

 

Whenever I look at Carleen’s beautiful face, I see the wise eyes of an old soul where strength and understanding meet, and those qualities are reflected in her writing. Carleen has a special way of writing about the harsh realities of strained relationships with warmth and wit, and she has a keen understanding of the wounds we inflict upon those we love.  As luck would have it, Carleen was able to carve out some time from her busy schedule to stop by and share a special essay here on Brava! I’m delighted to introduce Carleen Brice, author of Orange Mint and Honey and Children of the Waters.

 

 

How Gardening is Like Writing

 

Both are about creating something where before there was nothing. Bare ground, blank page. With both, the best stuff comes when we dig deep. With both, we strive for beauty and for contributing something to the world around us.

 

My husband and I started out with a plan for our front yard, which we mostly followed. We had the rock company put the boulders where we wanted them, and we planted evergreen shrubs and trees where we wanted. We (when I’m referring to hard physical labor and say “we,” I mean “he”) dug up the lawn with a sod cutter. Then we (this one includes me too) laid down long sheets of brown paper to cover the weedy soil, which we topped with a few tons (literally) of recycled wood mulch. We let this sit for a winter and then the next spring we started planting perennials — blue flax, yarrow, California poppies, black-eyed Susans, moonbeam coreopsis, fire witch dianthus (how could a writer resist these names?). And we (well, ok, I) strayed a bit from the plan.

 

We started with a list of half a dozen or so low-water, low-maintenance plants, but something happened as I started to work in the yard. The plan didn’t go out the window so much as the garden transcended the plan. Friends offered me Shasta daisies, irises, four o’clocks and hens and chicks from their gardens. I fell in love with cosmos, snow-in-summer, wine cups, Elijah blue fescue, sunset hyssop (a late bloomer with purple and orange flowers that smell like root beer barrel candy) and orange carpet hummingbird trumpet (which brings hummingbirds to our city yard). A vacant lot nearby sprouted blue salvia and a virtually indestructible plant that is either feverfew or chamomile, and I dug them up and brought them home. And, of course, I had to plant some orange mint.

 

What we ended up with isn’t nearly as easy or as orderly as we envisioned, but the combinations of colors, scents and shapes of the blooms, the different views between rocks and over seas of flowers are much better than I could have imagined when we first started. It was good that we had the plan and laid a foundation of the rocks and evergreens to anchor everything. But it was also good to go a little crazy with the flowers.

 

This is also how gardening is like writing: have a plan, but don’t be afraid to ignore it when your own work leads you to something better.

 

How is writing different from gardening? My garden started out neat and tidy and quickly went messy. For example, last summer, I focused on weeding and mulching the side of our yard near our neighbor’s lot. It had become, shall we say, problematic. I’m rarely on that side of the house, so it’s easy for me to ignore. When I go out to work in the yard, I tend to start with what I can see and get tired before I get to the parts I see less often. So this time I started on the bad side. My neighbor’s sprinkler waters a group of weeds that grow under a large pine tree (about the only things that will grow there). I pulled them all up and put newspaper and mulch down. Then, I weeded between what used to be neat rows of moonbeam coreopsis and blue flax, but had become wild fields of weeds and California poppies dotted with coreopsis and flax. The rows still aren’t as neat as they originally were, but they are better.

 

Writing is the opposite. With writing we start out messy and end up neat. I’m trying to remember that because I keep trying to write my third novel like it’s a final draft, but that’s impossible. It’s got to be messy now because there are too many questions I don’t yet have the answers to. So the pages are filled with notes to myself and questions and empty spaces where connecting scenes will go (maybe).

 

With writing and gardening, it helps if you know what you should try to tame (weeds) and what you should let go (there’s NO way to control California poppies!). Accepting chaos, finding beauty in the chaos, is part of the experience.

Carleen Brice

Author of Orange Mint and Honey and Children of the Waters

Website: www.carleenbrice.com

Blog: www.welcomewhitefolks.blogspot.com

Twitter: www.Twitter.com/carleenbrice

Facebook: www.Facebook.com/carleen.brice