Life takes on a neat simplicity […]. Time ceases to have any meaning. When it is dark, you go to bed, and when it is light again you get up, and everything in between is just in between. It’s quite wonderful, really.
Bill Bryson, A Walk in the Woods, 1998
Gardening with natives instills an understanding of our natural world—its cycles, changes, and history. Communing with nature has a positive, healing effect on human beings. Learning how to work with instead of against nature will do wonders for your spiritual health.
Lynn M. Steiner, Grow Native: Bringing Natural Beauty to Your Garden, 2016
I soon learned that rare and beautiful plants can only be found in places that are difficult of access…. Often one has to shove one’s self through or wriggle under briars, with awkward results to clothing and many and deep cuts and scratches…. Wading, usually barelegged, through countless rattlesnake-infested swamps adds immensely to the interest of the day’s work…. On several occasions I have been so deeply mired I had to be pulled out.
Mary Gibson Henry, 1884–1967
The melancholy days have come,
the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods,
and meadows brown and sear.
William Cullen Bryant, “The Death of the Flowers,” 1880
Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don’t they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.
Ray Bradbury, Zen in the Art of Writing: Essays on Creativity, 1990
Don’t you know what that is? It’s spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you’ve got it, you want–oh, you don’t quite know what it is you DO want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so! It seems to you that mainly what you want is to get away; get away from the same old tedious things you’re so used to seeing and so tired of, and set something new. That is the idea; you want to go and be a wanderer; you want to go wandering far away to strange countries where everything is mysterious and wonderful and romantic. And if you can’t do that, you’ll put up with considerable less; you’ll go anywhere you CAN go, just so as to get away, and be thankful of the chance, too.
Mark Twain, Tom Sawyer, Detective, 1896
I got crazy about seeds because I was crazy about plants because long ago I realized that the safest place I could be was the plant kingdom—where things made sense, where the malice we have to contend with in the animal world was absent, where nothing was going to eat you, really.
Janisse Ray, The Seed Underground: A Growing Revolution to Save Food, 2012
The shiver that runs through the earth ere she rouses from her night sleep had already begun, and the cool wind that heralds the daybreak was drawing downward from the lofty, snow-traced ravines of Mount Orontes. Birds, half-awakened, crept and chirped among the rustling leaves, and the smell of ripened grapes came in brief wafts from the arbors.[…]Far over the eastern plain a white mist stretched like a lake.
“The Other Wise Man,” Henry van Dyke, 1896
For flowers that bloom about our feet;
For tender grass, so fresh, so sweet;
For song of bird, for hum of bee;
For all things fair we hear or see;
Father in heaven, we thank Thee!
“We Thank Thee,”
Friends who don’t garden can’t accept the idea that I am enjoying myself when I’m weeding. The myth that it’s drudgery, an unpleasant chore, is too much with us. Truth be told, weeding is a stolen pleasure, time all to myself. The monotonous rhythm of repeated action allows my mind to wander—my imagination unclogs, and the frustrations of daily life are washed away with the glow of perspiration.
Suzy Bales, “The Delights of Weeding”
The Gardener’s Bedside Reader, 2008
Mr. E. went up a mountain near and brought me down some grand trailing specimens of the largest of all pitcher-plants, which I festooned round the balcony by its yards of trailing stems. I painted a portrait of the largest, and my picture afterwards induced Mr. Veitch to send a traveller to seek the seeds, from which he raised plants and Sir Joseph Hooker named the species Nepenthes northiana. These pitchers are often over a foot long, and richly covered with crimson blotches. Then I said good-bye to Mr. E. and returned to the Rajah’s at Kuching.
Marianne North, botanical artist and explorer, in Sarawak, 1876
Recollections of a Happy Life, 1893