Opening the doors to mist ‘Mary’s Garden’ each morning is entering a magic realm. My nose sniffs the scent of fertile woodlands even as I gazed out at an impossibly deep white shroud for months, and presently peer out at pale green earth, bees, and budding trees.
All the original contents of Mary’s Garden, mosses, lichens, liverworts, hemlock seedlings, stones and pieces of bark are buried or supported by the richest detritus and soil that I gathered with such care from a protected forest of thousands of acres just before the snow set in last November. There is a small pond in the center of the four-sided container, edged with emerald moss. Two of my animal fetish friends, a Zuni bear and frog live among the greenery. All throughout the winter this lively miniature woodland created a living link to ‘my’ beloved forest, a place I longed to be part of but could not traverse during winter months. Mary’s garden has been a source of endless enchantment and comfort during the coldest winter days.
I have created and kept woodland terrariums since I was a child, but always returned the plants to their original homes in the spring. Mary’s Garden will be an exception. Unless/until the plants outgrow their home, I will not be returning them to the wild. What I learned this winter from entering into relationship with the living beings of this small space is that terrariums, if attended to with keen attention and kept long enough, have very distinct seasons.
In January I noted the first new growth. Sphagnum moss puffed up and out. Ferns I never planted gradually began to unfurl ever so slowly. New lichens, some with tiny trumpets appeared on an old piece of bark. Two hemlock seedling developed emerald bristles on the tips of their needles; the ground hugging partridgeberry began to tentatively sprout round leaves. Changes were slow and steady. Each gem could be easily missed unless observed daily! Most recently, less than a month before they will appear outdoors, twin flowers emerged, unknown seeds are sprouting from healthy moss beds, fungi continue to come and go, shield lichens appeared, new usnea cascades from old hemlock heartwood. One birch bark shaving supports a new treelike species of liverwort.
What I find so compelling is that now that the ground is bare, and green shoots are appearing in my outdoor garden my love for this terrarium pulls me through its doors each morning with the same urgent call. Every plant is asking only to be seen and cared about…and I am only too happy to oblige. Many times a day! Not only has my attention not diminished but I feel the same kind of excitement peering into Mary’s Garden that I experience outdoors as I investigate each plant’s emergence or check on my frog pond that is currently supporting tadpoles. I am thinking about keeping a journal so I can keep track of what’s going on in my little forest as s/he passes through the next three seasons. I can’t wait to find out what happens next!
A bridge from this diminutive woodland to thousands of acres of forest has been forged between us.
Attached by invisible threads that are stretched between the terrarium and the woods is presently conjuring up memories I can barely contain…I cannot wait to visit Hemlock Hollow, touch the peeling bark of aging yellow birches, sit against the swaying pines, hunt for rare orchids, and listen for the birds who like me find refuge there. I climb granite ledges by the river to sit and listen, lean into learning from my elders, trees and birds, bees, and flowers. I cross bridges to converse with beavers who work so diligently to create the ponds that will support forest folk, from water bears to moose. I sit by flowing waters among the mosses that glow like emeralds even in the dark. No matter how despairing I may feel about the times ahead, as soon as I part the invisible veil to enter the forest, a cloak of peace descends.
Because of the great generosity of a family who had a visionary capacity and the financial resources to begin protecting forests in the early 70’s I discovered this place where Silence stills my mind. Healthy hemlocks bow to streams moderating the flooding of lowlands. The forest floor and thick understory support all manner of trees – conifers and hardwoods – plants and shrubs a multitude of spring, summer, and fall flowers – partridgeberry, hobblebush, viburnum, laurels, clubmosses, and an incredible array of fruiting fungi. The underlying mycelial network is teaming with insects, bacteria, and microbes we know nothing about but happen to make up 2/3rds of life on this planet. Lichens thrive on supine logs bursting with new life. The banks of seeps streams and rivers wear a gray or green mossy coats. Wood frogs, green frogs, leopard frogs, peepers, red efts, and salamanders are nestled under damp logs and stones. Water striders ripple quiet waters. Ruffed grouse, wild turkeys are hidden in tree boughs. Glacial boulders stand as sentries to the past. Vultures and hawks peruse the skies in open places and can almost always be seen, the former year – round. A few of the songbirds that live here can be found nowhere else. Weasels, mink, beavers, porcupines, squirrels, raccoons, coyotes, moose, deer, bobcat, lynx, wolves, and bears make their homes in this place.
It’s almost the end of April and by now, thanks to the mercifully brief heat wave the paths are finally clear of snow. Soon it will be time to revisit my wildflower friends – trailing arbutus, trout lilies, bloodroot, wild violets, jack in the pulpit, marsh marigolds, spring beauties, twin flowers and oh so many others! Without this place ‘to become one with all that is’ I wonder how I would survive, because on some days the grief I am experiencing over the loss of our precious forests along with species diversity is overwhelming. I am witnessing the destruction of a vibrant ecosystem that once defined the state of Maine.
Returning to this beloved forest is like returning to the Great Mother that birthed us all. Being here allows me to believe that no matter what humans do the Earth will live on because Life is overflowing from every rotting log. And most important for me is that I can find refuge from the future by living totally in the now.