I make almost daily walks to the Henry Clay estate. It is only about a mile from my home and it is filled with enough trees that it has officially become an arboretum. I can do my forest bathing and tree-hugging close to home! The estate also features an historic house (though it was built after Henry Clay's time) and an English style enclosed garden. Two sides of the garden are bounded by a brick wall and the other two by a fifty-year old Yew hedge. Recently, the interior side of the hedge has been cut back to the trunks. A sign announcing the project states that this is being done so that the yew hedge might thrive for another 50 years. We are invited to be patient during this aesthetically awkward time.
As I approached the garden this day, I could see the sculpture of the young child and birds through the newly sheared hedge. The branches were framing the sculpture in an interesting way. When I entered the garden and looked at the sculpture from that vantage point it appeared to be an intriguing juxtaposition of youth and age, and what is necessary for rejuvenation to keep something aging successfully (and that is a juxtaposition in itself!) To me, this idea was encapsulated in this photograph. The sculpture of the child is particularly lovely because, through age it has developed the lovely verdigris patina (except on the left foot which has been polished by many hands over the years.) The child appears to be looking over at the scarred hedge with a bit of concern--"What has happened to my hedge's verdant growth?" --eyeing particularly the round copper wounds where branches used to be attached. The hedge has re-entered a stage of awkward adolescence, though it is fortunate to have a green side and the basic structure to grow into. The asymmetry of mature boxwoods along the border has been exposed with the removal of half of the hedge, so the awkwardness reverberates along the two sides.
All this made me think about graceful aging and how sometimes we are required to cut something out in a major way. This is difficult because the change in ourselves also reverberates out in waves into our lives. Sometimes the change is harder on the 'boxwoods' in our lives than us. And the change can be necessary even if you have been careful and tuned into healthy practices. The Yew Project sign noted that they have been carefully pruning back the hedge all along. There are also times when we are forced to change, forced to say goodbye to an important part of our life--no planning was involved. But, perhaps that encourages a kind of new growth, too, even though not desired. I guess what struck me while in the garden, was the strong link between youth and age, old and new and the intriguing idea of cutting away so that something could become even older. My wish is that we may have the fortitude to carry on for a bit longer and develop a beautiful patina of our own.
