Oh the Life of a Branch Manager

The eyes of all wait upon you, O Lord, and you give them their food in due season. You open wide your hand and satisfy the needs of every living creature. Psalm 145

I am not a gnome, nor am I a yard elf. During the winter season I meander around the property to ensure the wind hasn’t blown away the roof, nor the rains flooded the crawl space beneath the house. I inspect the grounds to see if the trees have remained upright, maintaining their structural integrity. The house stands on a pretty decent slope, but there is no evidence of mudslides in the past, so I am confident I won’t soon be singing Carole King’s “I feel the earth move under my feet, I feel the sky tumblin’ down …” 

However, winter has ended here in the Pacific Northwest (at least in the lowlands). The daffodils are in full bloom out in the Skagit Valley and the tulips won’t be far behind them. The daytime highs are finally reaching the fifties. Migrating flocks of geese and swans are passing overhead each day (which is one reason I always wear a hat when I am on the move), and I no longer need to bundle up as if I am trudging forth on an arctic expedition when I go to retrieve the mail.

I’m not being serenaded each morning by our local nest-builders, but that could be due as much to the decline of my hearing as to birds not singing. The bird baths still have water in them from recent rains, but time has come for me to remove the anti-frost caps which have been covering the outdoor spigots, and hooking up the hoses so I can give those concrete ponds a spring cleaning and provide my avian friends fresh, clean water to drink and/or bathe in.

While I am not, historically speaking, a gardener, I do find myself breaking loose from the shackles of indoor living to at least venture out into the jungle that is laughingly referred to as my garden, to survey the scene and discern what toll winter has taken. While this area does not usually experience extremes of heat in summer or cold in winter, we did manage to dip into the single digits for an extended period of time a few months ago; some of our bushes and plants did not survive the experience. They will need to be dug up, removed, and newer, heartier varieties will need to take their place.

Such is the way of life. Sometimes we may be tempted to think our intelligence, ingenuity, cleverness, and attention will protect us from disaster, but the truth is we can only do so much. People and plants have their own, particular life cycles. There are things we can do to promote the health and well-being of creation (things like vitamins and good diet for us, fertilizer, water, and pruning for plants), but ultimately, all creation emanates from the grace of God, and all creation returns to the embrace of God.

I tend to take a mostly hands-off approach to the natural order. While I understand and appreciate the beauty of well-trimmed gardens and admire the skills of topiary specialists, I’m happy to let plants do their thing and just clean up when they shed limbs and branches. Some people may think I am lazy (and that’s not necessarily untrue), but I’m simply not obsessed with neatness, balance, or symmetry. Nature, to me, is to be enjoyed, not controlled or compelled to conform to some artificial human concept of beauty.

Sure, the yard may look scraggly, but so what? I’ve looked in the mirror and even with all the work I have done to keep this carcass fit as a fiddle (and in a shape that is not dissimilar), I find that I, too, am a bit scruffy. That’s OK. God does not look upon the outward appearance but the inner reality, right?

Each day brings me closer to meeting God face to face; I just want to be a little more like the Divine so that we’ll always recognize one another, both in heaven above AND here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)