Be Present to Beauty

in the backyard with an artist

One morning this week I went out to cut some zinnias. It was mid-morning, before ten a.m., I believe. This is the happy privilege of a summer break from teaching. At any time, I can go in and out my backdoor to visit my flowers, spy on my gone to seed lettuce bed, admire the orchids in bloom and swing a minute in the hammock suspended from the Live Oak.  Except for the mosquitos, the humidity and the oven-like heat, it is bliss. To counteract the aforementioned downers, I wear a large brimmed hat, spray my arms and legs with non-toxic repellent and have a requisite tumbler of iced tea. Bliss, I tell you. Bliss.

(This moment inspired me to write this piece.)

On this particular morning, I was nearly moved to tears over the beauty of my own backyard. It’s not a showcase garden, although it is quite charming to me. The mix of cottage garden flowers, tropical touches and Americana welcome me to simply be.

Be home. Be well. Be at peace.

I feel so fortunate, as an artist, to have a designated art studio with a bank of windows overlooking my backyard. Even as I write, I look over my right shoulder and there are three orchids in bloom.

In front of me, the west facing windows give way to the iconic, “See Rock City” birdhouse and beyond that, an American flag on the fence. There are Pentas and Petunias, roses and Rosemary, Sage and Sweet Potatoes and more.

Over my left shoulder, stained glass panels flank a view of a fig tree—a request I suggested be an anniversary gift. Have you ever inhaled the fragrance of a fig tree? You have to get real close, nose nearly nuzzling the leaves to discover its unique scent. I’m transported for a brief moment to my maternal grandparents’ yard. Mamaw and Papaw had a monstrous fig tree and the request of a fig tree filled a void for me.

Time, death, and a misunderstanding stole something precious from my life but my little fig tree, yielding only a handful of fruit at a time, restores my best memories and so I often stand under that tree, nose nuzzling the leaves and I inhale. And I remember.

I am home. I am well. I am at peace.

The fragrance, the color, the texture and the enoughness of a handful of fruit all tap at the senses. The beauty and the charm of my own backyard is restful. My own backyard is both a literal place and a metaphor. I’m not longing for far away places, although an art retreat to France sounds like a dream! I believe I would enjoy that adventure; however, my deepest longings have been realized. My faith is sure and my family is near (my youngest in Heaven). These are the greatest longings of my heart. Other things are sweet desires in process or yet to be imagined.

As I am present, observant and thankful in my own backyard, I am able to engage in its beauty. Not only seeing it, but feeling it and, often, overcome by it—even to the point of teary-eyedness.

“No other creature stops to behold something beautiful for no other reason than that it has stirred something in their souls.” – Russ Ramsey, Rembrandt Is in the Wind

Not only is my soul stirred, as Ramsey writes, but I am also infused with a serenity—a soul both stirred and serene! And this is where I am finding myself more and more – unhurried and unworried in my own backyard. I couldn’t always say that. I’ve experienced tragedy, trauma and loss—even lately—and in years past, I’ve cried hot tears and screamed in the rain in my own backyard. But these days…I’m finding rest in the beauty of where I am. Right here. Right now.

I am home. I am well. I am at peace.  

By being present and observant, I noticed this little frog who also found a place of rest in the beauty in his own backyard—and mine!