Lately, Yves1019, Bearkat110, and Maggierose
have described very frustrating situations with their beautiful
gardens. Of course, the rest of us have our bad days, too. So when I
came upon a review of a new book by one of my favorite writers, Alain de Botton, I thought of sharing with you something from his Consolations of Philosophy,
a book that never fails to cheer me. (This doesn't directly relate to
anything I've read in other blogs but I hope it can help you laugh at
frustrations you may have in your garden or out.)
de Botton
writes in his chapter "Consolation for Frustration," that it "is
tempting, when we are hurt, to believe that the thing which hurt us
intended to do so." I ask you to contemplate that for a moment. As
ridiculous as it sounds, have you ever assigned to elements of your
garden free will or self control that they do not have?
A
squirrel in our yard does actually try to hit us with pine cones, and I
confess to sometimes responding as if it were an equal, a human
neighbor, taking aim at me. I talk to it, tell it I don't deserve such
treatment, etc. I have never gone as far as some, however.
One time, at a talk that was supposed to be on permaculture, I found
myself stuck listening to a tangent that led to intricate details of
the presenter's squirrel death box invention he uses "to let them go to
sleep and not wake up." The effort involved in what he described hardly
sounded worth the protection of a few tomatoes.
Such
unbalanced responses have been witnessed since ancient times. de Botton
tells us that the Roman Stoic Seneca observed that kind of behavior and
its negative effects -- responses to frustration can be even more
damaging to us than the original problems. For teaching purposes,
Seneca collected stories of people feeling persecuted by inanimate
objects. One these comes from Herodotus's Histories:
Cyrus, founder of the Persian Empire, had a prized white horse he
always rode in battle. While marching toward Babylon to conquer the
Assyrians, his army came to the river Gyndes, which was raging with
snowmelt from the Matienian mountains. His generals advised him to wait
until the conditions improved, but Cyrus was impatient and ordered them
to proceed. "Yet as the boats were being readied, Cyrus's horse slipped
away unnoticed and attempted to swim across the river. The current
seized the beast, toppled it and swept it downstream to its death."
Cyrus
became incensed that the river had stolen his treasured mount. He raged
on the bank and "vowed to punish the river by making it so weak that a
woman would in future be able to cross it without so much as wetting
her knees." He then made his men stop their march toward Babylon and
spend the summer digging trenches to split the river into 360 weak
channels. "His anger assuaged, the King of Persia instructed his
exhausted army to resume the march to Babylon."
What are the Gyndes in your garden?
Weeding around liriope can make me feel like Sisyphus.
TheDailyBeast.com has published a funny clip that ties in with my post.
"What the Flock" from FOX News.
