I am technologically impaired. This will matter later.
Speaking of Gardening…
I don’t really ‘get’ technology – I just sort of use it. Ineptly at best. I have a mac. I have an iphone. I don’t really understand these devices. I theoretically appreciate all the things they can do, but I plainly lack the ‘adventurer’s spirit.’ Trying new things on electronic devices gives me hives, so I mostly avoid clicking my way to new discoveries. When I see pictures that people tweet, or publish with Instagram, or post on Facebook, I’m usually stunned by the immediacy of the shared experience via social media (whatever that really means). Then it hits me. These people are using their SMARTphones. I actually have a SMARTphone. Alas! I am too stupid to use it. Until recently.
As things happen, smartphones have cameras. (Maybe even phones of mere average intelligence have them; I don’t know.) I have taken a few pictures with my very own smartphone, but as you would expect, they are out of focus, or I cut off someone’s head, or, you know, just… . Impaired. The other day, in the unseasonably blistery heat of this mid-June, I walked about our yard, dismayed to find it resembling the end of summer – brown, withered grass dotted by vibrant green weeds strong enough to thrive in nuclear winter, and forgotten potted plants, leaves and blooms drooped in parched defeat. But in the shade of the northern exposure, I discovered these:
I would be delighted to claim responsibility for the hydrangeas blooming with reckless abandon in my flowerbed, but they do not depend on me. Turns out, in addition to technological difficulties, I don’t have much of a green thumb either. I did plant this green and growing thing, to be sure. And in all likelihood I watered it a few times during its first year too. Since then I have been a mere bystander, watching my hydrangea grow, admiring its profusion of color and life. This year, I am marveling at its tenacity. My yard is burned to a crisp, but this plant continues to thrive though the rain refuses to fall on my garden.
Life change in a twinkling. And instead of my usual thousand words, I wanted a picture as witness to the revelation. After only five tries, I managed to preserve the unmatched beauty of my garden hydrangeas. With my smartphone. I’ll admit, I beamed with pride in that moment. Not only was I the owner of the plant, I was also the creative eye behind the camera. Focused. Insightful. And, for one perfect moment, technologically ept.
By eclipsing the inevitable limitations of both technology and drought, I discovered three things that I know to be true:
Smartphones are only as smart as their users.
Pictures without words invite me to tell a story.
Everything important happens in a garden.