Henry Beston: The Naturalist’s Guide to Soulful Gardening
This botanical history post was featured on The Daily Gardener podcast:
June 1, 1888
On this day, dear readers and fellow gardeners, we celebrate the birth of Henry Beston (books by this author), that most esteemed American writer and naturalist.
As we delve into the verdant world of this remarkable man, prepare to be enchanted by his profound connection to nature and his unique perspectives on the art of gardening.
Beston, best remembered for his magnum opus The Outermost House (1928), penned during a year of solitude on the Great Beach of Cape Cod, offers us a glimpse into a mind deeply attuned to the rhythms of the natural world.
Picture, if you will, our author hunched over a kitchen table, quill in hand, as he transcribes the whispers of the sea and shore.
It was during this period of self-imposed isolation that Beston's life took a most fortuitous turn.
At a garden party, amidst the heady perfume of old roses and the relentless assault of mosquitoes, he encountered his future wife, the accomplished writer and poet Elizabeth Coatsworth (books by this author).
Their daughter, Kate Barnes (books by this author), immortalized this serendipitous meeting in her poem Old Roses:
When my father met my mother
at a dinner party in a garden of very old roses
on Beacon Hill one hot evening
in early June, he said to his friend, F. Morton
Smith, that night, "Morton, I have met
the girl I'm going to marry!"
But let us turn our attention, dear gardeners, to Beston's horticultural musings.
In his book Herbs and the Earth, he gifts us with this exquisite observation:
A garden of herbs, is a garden of things loved for themselves in their wholeness and integrity. It is not a garden of flowers, but a garden of plants which are sometimes very lovely flowers and are always more than flowers.
Is this not a perspective to cherish, to hold close as we tend our own humble plots?
Beston invites us to see beyond mere ornament, to appreciate the intrinsic value of each plant that graces our gardens.
And oh, how he elevates the simple act of watering! Listen, if you will, to this profound insight:
If gardeners will forget a little the phrase, "watering the plants" and think of watering as a matter of "watering the earth" under the plants, keeping up its moisture content and gauging its need, the garden will get on very well.
In these words, we find a reminder of our role not as mere cultivators, but as stewards of the very earth itself.
As the seasons turn, Beston's lyrical voice captures the subtle transformation of the landscape:
The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes from the summer cottons into its winter wools.
What a delightful image!
Can you not feel the crispness in the air, the rustling of dry leaves underfoot?
As we conclude our celebration of Henry Beston's natal day, let us carry with us his deep reverence for nature, his appreciation for the humble herb, and his poetic vision of the changing seasons.
May we, in our own gardens, strive to see beyond the surface, to water the earth itself, and to love each plant for its wholeness and integrity.
Until next time, dear readers, may your herbs flourish, your roses bloom profusely, and may you always find poetry in the gentle act of tending your garden.
