Nature is my greatest teacher of patience. In the Western world, where everything urges us to accelerate, achieve, and produce results, the garden reminds us that some things simply require time.
We can provide the optimal conditions for plants and trees—water, compost, aerated soil—but beyond that, we can only wait.
The Roots of the Oak: Work Beneath the Surface
Take the oak tree, for example. It can remain only ten centimeters tall for many years. Outwardly, it may appear not to be thriving, but beneath the surface, it holds a surprise: the oak sends out deep, wide roots that reach many meters away.
It reminds me of people who, on the surface, do not seem to be “progressing” at the expected pace, while intensive inner work is taking place beneath the surface. This work may be long, but it pays off: the oak is one of the strongest and longest-living trees in Israel, precisely because it devotes so much time to establishing itself before appearing in all its glory.
The Danger of Growing Too Fast
Our other heritage trees also grow slowly. If we force their growth through intensive irrigation, they will grow taller faster, but it will come at the expense of the tree’s density. A tree that grows too quickly is full of air and water pockets, making it sensitive and vulnerable to fungi and pests.
There is an important lesson here: when we try to force psychological processes, we may produce brittle and fragile growth. Sometimes, the basic conditions are provided, and all that remains is for us to wait and marvel at the journey—at the bud, the bloom, and even the hungry caterpillars that will turn into butterflies. When we focus only on the result (the lettuce or the radish), we forget the journey.
Diversity and Cooperation: The Ecological Field
In an industrial field, lettuces grow only next to lettuces, and carrots next to carrots. But in nature, plants need one another. In the ecological field, we are reminded of how things truly grow: together.
The trees provide shade for the vegetables in the summer, and in the winter, they shed their leaves to allow the sun to warm the soil. The abundance of a diverse garden reminds us of the state we strive for in our psyche and community—diversity and cooperation. Even in periods when the tree looks bare and pathetic, this is a time of gathering strength and recharging for renewal. The colder and rainier the winter, the more powerfully the trees will burst forth in the spring.
Maintaining the Connection Within “Mother Culture”
We sometimes trap ourselves within the walls of “Mother Culture” and forget that our nature does not change. Even if we live in a dense city, it is important to remember the trees in the park, the potted plants at home, and the excursions into nature, as maintaining a connection with them keeps us connected to ourselves.
The urban environment is harsher and faster-paced than our own nature. When we feel difficulty, it is often a sign that we need to slow down and reconnect with what sustains us. When I lived in remote villages, I noticed that arriving in the city required mental preparation—meditation, building a protective “bubble,” and remembering pleasant things—in order to remain authentic amidst the sensory overload.
It is possible to lead a life of high productivity at an urban pace, as long as we remember to stop, breathe deeply, look into each other’s eyes, and remember the reason and the need for which we are acting.
This article was originally published in Hebrew on Sagi Gottfried’s website.