I spent today, Mother’s Day, gardening. Last weekend I planted our considerable vegetable garden with the help of my granddaughter. Today, I concentrated on flowerbeds, planters and hanging baskets. The humidity was equal to the temperature so it was a hot, sticky day here in southern Indiana.
As I was dividing some ferns for the hanging baskets, it suddenly struck me how fugitive all my efforts were. Why am I doing this? I asked myself. Just because I love the results. I felt as if I were channeling my mother and both grandmothers, who were all great gardeners. A nice sentiment on Mother’s Day.
This led along a winding path of thinking about temporary art. Many artists have made their reputations with creating artwork which isn’t meant to last. Being the practical person that I am, I have always been a little skeptical. But just as Christo’s art events to swathe bridges and canyons in fabric, and Gonzales-Torez’s piles of candy in museums are temporary art, so is planting flowers. We do it for the sheer enjoyment and beauty.
My flowers will bring me great joy this summer until they are gone with the frosty fall. That’s enough. Isn’t it?