When I came back to the idea of simplicity being the answer, I set about creating a number of different aspects of my life that I could apply this to. My first insight is that in some cases this is going to be about noticing complexity and finding ways to simplify, while in other areas it will be about noticing the simplicity that is already there, the ways in which my life is already, relatively, simple, and to highlight and celebrate that.
One thing we don’t do enough of in this hyper-comparative world is to catch ourselves doing something right. We spend so much time locked into the Instagrammed / Airbrushed lives of other
people, that we forget that even the Buddhas have their days. We forget that no-one shows us their shame-storms. We forget that we’re all (most of us, anyway) doing the best we can. So how much easier would it be, if instead of always looking to catch ourselves falling, we sometimes look to push ourselves rising, be the wind under our own wings?
Perhaps that’s the thought that was hovering in my subconscious when I decided that I was going to start with “Simple Pleasures”. For a week or so – first rule of simplicity, get rid of unnecessary deadlines – I set about focussing on the things that give me pleasure, or might do so if I allowed myself to indulge in them, to look at the simple things that bring me joy, and to look at the less
simple ones and see what I could do in terms of reducing the layers of complexity.
I noticed right away that there are going to be cross-overs between what I had begun to think of as themes for this adventure. I decided right away to ignore that. If something shows up one week as a simple pleasure and another week as simple food or simply being, so what?
Actually, no. Not “so what”, instead “so: great!” It makes the experiment more holistic; it underlines how what we do in one area of life plays into all the others.
I mention this because the very first of the simple pleasures I was mindful enough to fully enjoy was eating a peach. A velvet-skinned, only-just-ripe, sweet peach. This wasn’t just any peach. This was quite a small fruit, but an important one. It was the first peach that the tree in my garden had produced. The very fact of its existence delighted me more than I can say.
The back end of my garden is a hotch-potch of planted and incomers and survivors. Three fruit trees were planted. I had no certainty that any of them would take, much less fruit. I had a pear or two last year, and one or two very bitter apples. I figured that of all of them the peach would be purely ornamental, and a joy all the same. For it to produce succulency that I can taste is amazing.
The tree has been put in the ground and other than getting a bit of a watering in the driest of spells has been left to fend for itself. That’s kind of the rule on the back end. It’s a semi-wild space. I cut back what’s getting out of hand, but otherwise, what grows, grows and what doesn’t is taken away.
There is one more peach, ripening off in the fruit bowl in my kitchen. There is one more still on the branch. If those three are all that come this year, bliss enough from one young tree. And a salute to the orchard that occupied this space once upon a time.
A couple of days later, my Turkish next-door neighbour is seen trying to harvest fruit from a tree over the road. No reason why not. As I understand the law of the land (& I could be wrong, so don’t quote me) we are entitled to take fruit from any branches that over-hang either our own land or public highway. Besides, this mature tree is in the garden of a student let, and most of them have gone down for the summer. We wander out a little later to take our own share of plunder. Plums! Small and sweet and I’m wondering if that rule about harvesting from the public path would run to be going over there with a basket and a ladder? Possibly not.
On yet another day, I sit reading in the shade contrived by a sun umbrella that falls over in
the slightest wind, despite the metal weight of the stand and the lightness of the sail. I’m reading Hemingway, but that’s by-the-by. The delight is in looking up and seeing a young blackbird taking a bath. It is one of those hottest days of summer, the kind we never used to have. The bird has discovered that the bottom bowl of the cascade is deep enough to bathe. As she splashes about shedding water everywhere over the edges and under her feathers, I can feel the joy of it. She stands on the edge, punk-like in her bedragglement and shakes off the excess. She preens briefly, but decides that, no, that was too good for just one dip and jumps back in for another soaking. I went swimming that morning. I knew exactly how she felt.
This time when she emerges she peers over the raised bed to see what’s happening further down the garden. I’ve never seen a blackbird doing a meerkat impression before. They can stand surprisingly tall when they want to. She deems all is safe hops on to the planking to clean her beak and then flits off over the back patch and into the holly tree.
The following days, her nest mates figure it out too. The young male comes a more circuitous route, along the fence, down through the wisteria, hops along the path through the zen garden, across the deck and collapses, tail and wings fanned to catch the sun, presumably listening to the cooling sound of water falling. Sunbathing before it gets too hot to do so. This is before 8 in the morning. Perhaps his route was to make the most of the shade.
Then he rouses himself to drink, sensibly from one of the upper bowls, before taking his plunge bath. Call me out for anthropomorphism if you want, but I still say it is the reverse. I still say we see human behaviour in animals, not because they are like us, but because we are like them. Animals, too.
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I spend time just sitting in gardens. Sitting and reading. Sitting and eating. Sitting and talking. Sitting and writing. And, just sitting. My own garden is quite open, lacking shade, struggling in the sun. Even so, I take pleasure in sitting and looking at it. I’m sure there was someone famous who said that ‘gardens are not for working in, they are for sitting in’. Sadly to do the one we have to do the other. Sometimes I also enjoy the work…but that’s a tale for another day.
I am writing this, though, sitting in another garden. Not mine at all, but one that I visit regularly, it lies beyond the doors of a garden room. Or maybe, it is part of the room. A small courtyard, that is full of abundant greenery. Palms, ivy, wisteria, honeysuckle, laurel, begonia. In a hidden corner, there is water flowing. Simple. Glorious.
I look up and see a clear blue sky. The earlier haze has blown away, the evening sun is catching a con-trail or two. Three colours: green, blue and white. Simple. Beautiful.
Swifts. Gulls. Blackbirds.
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What I find out really early on in this first week, is how much the simple things matter to me. Fresh fruits, bird-watching, swimming, sitting in the garden. I’m not sure I have done anything to make my life any simpler, but acknowledging how important simple things are feels like a good start.
