Pine Mud’s Garden

By David Besozzi

When approaching the end of my career as an educator in the spring of 2022, I was repeatedly asked what my plans were for retirement. My answer was simple. I planned to become an amateur gardener. 

I first dabbled in gardening in 2009. However, it wasn’t until 2014, five years after I built my garden, that I decided upon a name for the garden. I didn't want something that sounded like a housing development (Cedar Crest). I wanted a local name that embodied the location, but there wasn't much to pick from within the local community. We are not in the Adirondacks, so no camp names would work. I also wanted something that fit the Asian characteristics I incorporated into the garden and its features. However, the garden is a mix of Japanese and Chinese elements, so finding an appropriate name was not easy.

In the end, I decided on the simplest and most obvious name: Songni Yuan.

Translation: Pine Mud Garden, or more appropriately, Pine Mud's Garden. 

Why not? After all, I had poured years of my life into building the garden and Pine Mud has been my Chinese name since 1985. The garden is more than my hobby, it’s my sanctuary. I also thought the characters that make up my Chinese name were appropriate - the "Mud" (water and earth) gives life to the "Pine" (wood) and all three of these elements exist through this symbiotic relationship. My own relationship with the garden is very similar. The pine tree is a symbol of longevity, and the garden has done much to improve my mental and physical health over the years - it gives me life, and in turn I help it to blossom and grow. We need each other. 

After 30 years of teaching I finally decided it was time to retire and retreat to my garden. In many ways, education is much like gardening. With teaching, one nurtures the minds of students with knowledge in the hope of bringing forth new understanding and a joy of learning that will help young people blossom into adulthood. In the garden, I have to nurture the plants so that they too can grow into blossoms that bring great joy.

The connection between gardening and retirement is best reflected in the 4th century a.d. poem Secret Heart (秘密的心) by Lu Yün:

Living in retirement beyond the world,
Silently enjoying isolation, 
I pull the rope of my door tighter 
And stuff my window with roots and ferns. 
My spirit is tuned to the Spring-season: 
At the fall of the year 
There is autumn in my heart. 
Thus imitating cosmic changes 
My cottage becomes a Universe. 

 Lu Yün’s poem speaks to me about my transition into retirement. In many ways life as a gardener continues the traditions that defined the yearly cycle of my life as an educator. The end of summer and arrival of fall would always bring “cosmic changes” as I prepared for a new set of students and classes. On the other hand, spring always marked the period where I could reflect on the successes of the year and prepare for the opportunity to reset and enjoy gardening tasks that enhanced the beauty of the garden.

Through spring, summer, fall, and even winter, the garden helped me refocus, relax, and look for the beauty all around. For instance, the panoramic views of the garden provided scenery that seemed otherworldly.

Yet over time I learned to appreciate looking at a leaf structure,

... the movement of a fountain grass in the wind,

... the color patterns of a blooming flower petal,

... or the passing of an insect along the edge of a lily bloom. 

As a result, I learned to focus on the details, the aspects of plants and nature that people often overlook when overwhelmed by the wonder of a wider scenic vista.

In truth, it was teaching that revealed to me the beauty in the details. Daily bureaucratic requirements could often distract teachers from the specific characteristics of individual students. When taking the time to focus on an individual, a teacher could see the wonder that comprises a child as a distinct person with traits and qualities unlike any other. Discovering individual plants within nooks and crannies of the garden is the same. True education, therefore, comes from seeing beyond the school and finding the student, while entering a garden requires one to stop and see the plants. 

The educator, in essence, is a gardener, and as a result my transition to retirement has proven to be one filled with delight. “I silently enjoy the isolation” and tend to my “roots and ferns.” Songni Yuan will never be finished. The symbiotic relationship I have with the garden is eternal - my garden is my “cottage” and it will continue to be my “universe.”