Green Minds Think Alike

FLIGHT FROM SHANGHAI TO LONDON, DAY 157

While in London, I will have the pleasure and honor of meeting Dr. Sue Stuart-Smith, a champion in all things horticultural therapy. While reading her book “The Well Gardened Mind”, I was struck by the language she and those she interviewed used to perfectly articulate how healing nature is. It is a magical space, a home away from home, and a friend above all else. I have been trying to think back to my introduction to the healing powers of nature. My mother, stepfather, brother, and I grew up in apartment complexes and rental houses that forbade cultivating the land, but my mother happily disobeyed and, nevertheless, filled our space with greenery. Her innate love and affinity for nature was passed on to me unintentionally, as she painted our home with colorful blooms and trailing ivies.

There are many instances in Dr. Stuart-Smith’s book where those being interviewed exclaimed that keeping company with the garden was found to be easy because there is no judgment to be made and no words to be spoken. That being said, the plants have a soul of their own. This is demonstrated by my own observations: my mother humming to our houseplants, and Lucas, an ethnobotanist from Costa Rica, telling us we must first ask permission from the plant before harvesting its fruits. Further, those interviewed in the book noted the tranquility of their time spent in the garden.

Time in the garden can allow us to slow down to what Dr. Stuart-Smith refers to as “garden time.” This is especially pertinent to my own life, as I am often consumed by ruminations that prevent me from feeling present. I remember a day in the garden when I felt entirely depleted, overwhelmed, and depressed. At the time, I was in Auckland, New Zealand, working alongside horticultural therapist Adrian Roche. My task that particular morning was harvesting salanova and chicory—two crops I was unfamiliar with harvesting at the time. When I asked for guidance, he said to harvest “leaf by leaf.” When I’m experiencing intense anxiety spirals, my mother tells me to take it “day by day,” or if that is too difficult, “hour by hour” or “minute by minute.” Although my thoughts were circulating at lightning speed as I started my task, I began inspecting the leaves, one by one, to see what needed to be harvested. Within a matter of minutes, I felt the “flow,” as Dr. Stuart-Smith refers to it, where my ego diminished and time became nonexistent. This feeling is especially familiar when I think of my time at Bell Urban Farm.

There is a certain flow that one develops when you find your niche. This concept is demonstrated by athletes, artists, and other passionate hobbyists who find a sense of rhythm through what they love. From my freshman year of college onward, my niche became flower farming. At the time, I was struggling with mental health issues that affected every area of my life, including my sleep, eating habits, academic performance, relationships, self-perception, and physical health. Growing up, both of my parents were addicts. I had to learn very quickly how to keep afloat with little help from the people in my life who were supposed to protect me. The abuse I witnessed from my parents, toward one another and themselves, found a permanent home in my body and brain. As the saying goes, “the body keeps the score.” I was eight years old when I began to exhibit extreme symptoms of trauma, but it wasn’t until nearly nine years later that I sought out treatment.

I remember how often my younger brother and I would escape to my grandparents’ backyard and create our own “imagined” spaces, as referenced in “The Well Gardened Mind”. The idea of these imagined spaces—whether made up of people or plants—creates a safe space that inspires curiosity and provides an escape from the real world. My brother and I found solace in forts made from branches, and nearly a decade later, I found a similar solace among the zinnias and marigolds surrounding me at Bell Urban Farm.

When I find myself engrossed in nature, whether through gardening, hiking, or birdwatching, it is as if that is the only space where I can exist, with no external pressures. I feel as if I can finally take a breath. What struck me in other interviews in “The Well Gardened Mind” is when therapeutic gardeners claim that gardening gave them a sense of purpose. Gardening and farming imply that you have a newfound responsibility, which is inherently true, as demonstrated by the wilting or dying of plants without proper care. This idea, in turn, teaches us how to practice self-compassion. If we can extend this genuineness and kindness to a plant, why can’t we extend the same compassion toward ourselves? It is the simple practice of caring for something that allows us to do the same for ourselves and others.

It is also worth noting how giving community gardeners are. As stated in the book, there are no competitive aspects of gardening—just a space for sharing ideas, meals, and work. This is something I have witnessed firsthand at many community gardening projects I’ve been a part of. So much of gardening is about giving—giving back to the earth, giving back to one another, and giving back to ourselves. The same should be said about food production in general, yet greed and hoarding prevent us from fulfilling this at a global scale.

After writing my undergraduate thesis on the importance of green space for mental health, I was intrigued by the observations I made in urban versus rural parts of Japan. “Gray spaces”—which are quite literally the opposite of green spaces—are scientifically proven to increase heart rate and blood pressure, similar to if there were an active threat. People tended to walk much more quickly and exude an overall demeanor of agitation and isolation in the city. It is worth mentioning that Japan has one of the highest suicide rates in the world. In sharp contrast, there was a noticeable shift in demeanor in the more rural countryside of Japan. There was no longer this collective rush I noticed elsewhere. People were slowing down, taking time to smell the roses. Each day, I observed predominantly elders outside tending to their gardens, greeting one another with smiles, bows, and “konnichiwas.” A farmer from the region explained that many young people do not take on the role of gardening from their parents and grandparents due to the rapid growth of technology and materialism.

With these observations, the urban farming movement is more crucial than ever. As Dr. Stuart-Smith explains, time spent with nature is becoming less and less common due to the instant gratification that can be found at our fingertips. The genuine process of reaping what you sow requires patience, and there is so much beauty when the bulbs you planted in the winter put on their first bloom in the spring. The excitement I feel from sowing bulbs or seeds that will later bloom is magical—a promise, a certainty. Dr. Stuart-Smith talks about this as each new season being promised, and even if the inevitable pests or bad weather stunt the process, something is sure to thrive. Life feels so ugly and uncertain at times, but the promise of spring and vibrant blooms is enough to keep going.

Another observation I’ve made during my travels is the importance of routine. Nearly all of the projects I have been part of, involving volunteers, therapeutic gardeners, and staff alike, have had members who’ve been avid participants in the community for anywhere from months to decades. One gentleman I met had been coming to a particular community farm for nine years, twice or more times a week. This volunteer had a mental disability that made socializing and speaking difficult. We would greet him before he chose his task of the day, which was nearly always the same task: mulching. There was a sense of safety this provided him, allowing him to speak more clearly and become more sociable. Each farm I visited exhibited a family-like atmosphere—cooking and cleaning for one another with all the crops we harvested as a team.

The idea of purpose is not only demonstrated by the relationship between a gardener and the garden, but also by the relationship between gardeners. At another community garden, one of the volunteers pointed out that a fellow volunteer had not joined the past few sessions when they normally would have. The attentiveness and genuine care found in these spaces is unlike any other, and I feel honored to witness this firsthand across cultures and demographics.

While on my journey, I have also been working closely with children in “nature play,” or a more playful term for environmental education. Environmental exposure and education are forms of prevention. As mentioned in “The Well Gardened Mind”, inmates who begin gardening are less likely to reoffend. I think a similar approach to horticultural exposure for children can prevent irritability, attention issues, anxiety, depression, and other mental disorders. Further, it can help promote curiosity, motor skills, confidence, and self-sufficiency. When I worked with a school group of children aged zero to five, there was initially very little interest in learning about seed sowing and native plants. However, when I demonstrated that the tiny seed in their hands would soon turn into a beautiful flower or herb, the students lined up to plant and water the seeds. Subsequently, the same children who weren’t willing to share the wooden blocks on the playground patiently waited their turn and shared the gardening supplies so that everyone could have a turn. This philosophy goes to show that gardening is inherently giving.

When I broke my elbow while staying at a host farm in Kyoto, Japan, another volunteer dropped everything to make me an herbal remedy for my cuts. Immediately, the bleeding and burning stopped. In the week leading up to my surgery, I was provided with natural herbal oils and ointments to ease the pain, as well as freshly prepared meals made from the day’s harvests. Nature inspires not only the desire to give, but also the desire to heal—whether physical wounds or mental ones. Another volunteer, who had recently undergone spinal surgery, explained to me that working in the garden provided him with a natural form of physiotherapy and gave him a sense of autonomy. Whether you are suffering from mental or physical harm, horticulture gives you a sense of agency. This agency allows us to feel more confident and demonstrates that we are, in fact, capable.

With every person I’ve spoken to while observing the therapeutic benefits of horticulture, they have spoken of a spiritual connection to the natural world—one person explained that it is his “song and muse,” another described it as “the answer.” I believe the ongoing research in this field is necessary to bridge the gap between humans and nature, thus enhancing our mental, physical, and spiritual well-being. I am honored to be doing this work this year and to share it with you. More to come from my experience in Japan!