Lessons from the Landscape

Through Drought and Storm

Lessons from the Landscape, Texas Native Plants

It was in the home of the towering pine trees of east Texas that I stumbled upon one of life’s greatest lessons.

While taking a stroll on a cool cloudy day, I noticed a colossal oak with long drooping branches up in the distance. More wide than tall, this beautiful specimen appeared as if it was reaching out to grasp anything that drew near to it. It was without question, one of the most beautiful oaks I had ever seen. Dipping my head beneath the broad lower branches, I gazed above to view the remaining trunk. Scattered across the limbs of the tree were withered plants clinging tight to the bark of the ancient monument. The encrusted plants appeared as if they hadn’t taken a drink of water in days. While the rest of the tree was lush with the cross shaped foliage characteristic of all post oak trees, the groups of curled plants found on the bark appeared anything but luscious. Any passerby would assume these were just the remains of something once beautiful, but it’s beauty no longer remained. I thought no different. I had given up on them. It was later that I found out the name of these miraculous plants. Resurrection fern.

Resurrection fern is a mystical plant. Able to lose over 90% of its water content during droughts, the fern shrivels to a fraction of its size. It has the appearance of lifelessness. But don’t let its appearance fool you. There is still a future for this humble plant for it knows something other species forget, rain is coming. Hold on.

A few weeks had passed since I had visited my old giant friend, so I decided to pay the oak another visit. Having learned a little about the fern and knowing that rain had visited the day before, I expected to see a little more life amidst the branches. I was astonished at how much it had changed. The vibrant green color indicative of life was not only found on oak’s leaves, but all throughout the branches themselves. Life among life. The ferns had held on. They had persevered. They hadn’t given up on hope and their beauty had returned. Is this not also the lesson of the palm tree?

Nearly two hundred miles south of this outstretched oak tree, lies another “tree” on the coast of Texas. A fifty-foot palm sits among the sand near the shore. It stares at the crashing blue sea, knowing turbulent winds and roaring waves will try to strip it one day from its home among the coast. The palm has seen is fair share of poor weather before, and it will certainly see it again, but it is ready. Its malleable cells and flexible trunk allow the palm tree to bend beneath the weight of hurricane force winds and not break. The ‘rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds beat against” it, but still the palm tree stands.

The palm has the same confident expectation as the fern. It endures knowing a better day is coming. Sunshine is just around the corner, so it holds on. I wonder if we could all learn the lesson of the fern and the palm.

Trials will come, but though drought and storm be with us now, a better day is just ahead. Hold on to hope.

-The Hopeful Oak

“For I consider that the sufferings of the present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.”

*Featured Image: Live Oak with Resurrection Fern by James DeMers. (no changes made) https://pixabay.com/fr/photos/virginie-ch%C3%AAne-ch%C3%AAne-du-sud-ch%C3%AAne-440351/ Dried Resurrection Fern image from Wikimedia Commons, Creator: Unknown (no changes made) https://images.app.goo.gl/GdtbiNzex2afLzsz7
Green Resurrection Fern image from Wikimedia Commons, Creator unknown (no changes made) https://images.app.goo.gl/id8rHfqC6de4iSts7

The Grass is Greener

Landscape Maintenance, Lessons from the Landscape, Porch Living

“The grass is greener on the other side.” We’ve all heard the old saying before. As I sat looking out my second story window at the neighboring back yards I realized, unfortunately, it was true.

I had spent the past two months away from our home in San Antonio, visiting the Piney Woods and country roads of East Texas. My family and I took shelter here as the first news of Coronavirus began sweeping through the country. Although fear was present around us, joy and peace filled our borrowed home. It was laughter that rang in our ears as we spent our days beneath the sun. We walked hours around picketed fences, chased the elusive grasshoppers among the fields of Indian paint brushes, and explored the depths of the old towering adjacent forests. The fast pace that I was so accustomed to, was slowing down and I was reminded once again of what was important. I now cherish these moments as I look back upon them.

Change, however, is inevitable and it was eventually time to head back to our home in the suburbs of Central Texas. It was here, having returned to the hustle and bustle, that I looked out our second story window towards our backyard. I was astonished at what I saw. The yard once carpeted with a monoculture of lush green Bermuda grass, was now speckled with unwelcome weeds. Areas once full of the grass were now barren. Had I forgotten something? I thought about how I had spent the last two months. The same sun that had brought love and laughter to my family as we played outside, had also brought a drought to my yard and I had been so careless as to leave it unwatered while away. The grass of course looked just fine next door.

Embarrassed, as I was and being a landscaper by trade, I went to work. I knew just what to do. I spent the following days removing the unwanted visitors from my grass and brought back the cool crisp taste of water to my plants. I watched over the next few weeks as the stolons and rhizomes filled in the patches of brown soil that were once visible from the window. The grass returned to its glorious state. As I stood gazing at the yard from my porch, the smell of organic fertilizer present, I thought about my time hours East of where I stood, and I missed it. “The grass is greener on the other side”, I thought. The fast pace had returned. Sweat and heat pressed down upon me as I stood still thinking about the sweet memories. I sighed, and then… cries of laughter as my oldest daughter pushed passed me running barefoot onto the grass towards the swing set in our backyard. My youngest daughter soon followed after her crying “Wait for me!” “Push me dad,” I heard from our swing set. Joyful noise was present again as we played on the turf. And once again, time stood still. We darted back and forth and hid behind the massive pecan tree as we played tag, made gritty pies from the sand in our sandbox, and danced around sprinklers. It was heaven on earth.

Hours have been spent outside since our return home to the suburban neighborhood yard. And while I still often think about the joy filled time spent on our extended vacation, I am grateful for what it taught me. “The grass is greener, where you water it.” Treasured memories can be formed wherever you are. It just takes slowing down, looking around you, and watering what matters most.

The grass is greener, where you water it.

-The Hopeful Oak