The Beauty of Barren New Jersey

I never thought New Jersey was beautiful until this year.  Something about the afternoon light filtering through the woods clothed in autumn, something about waking up to find the reason why the light streaming through the window is slightly different is because the world outside has been layered with a new fleece of snow, reflecting the light back on all surfaces in a most sublime way.  

I believe if you can love a place through its barren days, it can only mean that you truly love it.  I suspect the same would apply of all things- people, tasks, objects,- if even on the days when they have seemingly nothing to offer, you still find their light sublime, then it can only mean that you truly love them. 

the backyard in winter

I used to think New Jersey was something horrid that ought to be done away with altogether.  But I suspect this was just a consequence of the viewpoint I adopted in my very early years, on the nature of existence.  The conclusion was that everything which related to existence was painful; but most painful of all were the seasons- mostly all too cold, and the summer, all too emolliating.  I recall being a child and wishing my life could be such that I didn’t ever need to move my physical body from the physical location of the inside of my house.  The world outside was full of unknowns and ordeals.  Thought of coats, umbrellas, sunscreens, hats all gave me anxiety.  I wished to live in a vacuum, temperature controlled, sealed off from the outside.  Better yet, have perfectly balanced meals delivered to me, or, condensed into pills, and swallowed.  Machines would move my limbs for me, and I’d have exercised.  My dream was to live in such a way that all that dealt with the physical aspect of living was dealt with- all so that I can move onto the task that I decided was the most important of all: thinking.  As a child growing up, thinking was all I seemed to be good at.  And it might have been true.  I was terribly weak, easily winded, couldn’t keep up with my peers if my life depended on it.  I hated my body- rather, hated being in a body.  I couldn’t understand why one was necessary.  I couldn’t stand to think too long about being in one, let alone then think about being in a house, which was fine until the roof started leaking, or ants marched in to take over the kitchen cabinets, let alone being in New Jersey, which somehow seemed to be responsible for all this misery- the ultimate name for the snow-globe I was condemned to.  I was trapped in my body.  I was trapped in New Jersey.

But strange things happen to us in the interim of large passages of time.  Thoughts and habits that don’t hold up over time break down, and light begins to seep in.  To this day, I swear the sunlight, flowers, trees, bugs, rain, are all in the business of casting spells.  Seemingly out of nowhere, really, in over the course of one sleepless night, I became enchanted with the idea of tending to a garden.  -And though we can name many good reasons as to why this would be so: gardens are beautiful, they’re good for the environment, we get good exercise in tending to them- all sorts of nice, logical reasons we can name as to why gardening is a perfectly innocent, ultimately altruistic interest, the truth is, I know the real reason we are drawn to them has nothing at all to do with the benefit of others.  Beneath all the wonderful things to be had of them, a garden is of an entirely selfish thing : they choose people to do their bidding,  to serve them and their agendas, and I am but just another soul, among the many, who has been chosen to be their mistress.  Their power over us is their spell, and we tend to them for their selfish desires to be beautiful and multiply.  And I am ok with that.  My blood feeds the flowers, my bones the roots, my flesh the leaves,- and I know this because of my enchantment with New Jersey on the days it is most barren.  Even on the days when it has nothing to offer, not even blankets of beautifully reflective snow- just damp, hard clay, brittle twigs, and harsh winds- when the light streams in through the barren branches, I find, once again, all to be forgiven.