Mediterranean Garden

Louise Kaestner
Dec 29, 2024
2 min read

Source: The Gnawnster YouTube (2024)

A Garden of Paradoxes: The Mediterranean Garden

I have no idea why it is called the Mediterranean Garden as within it are Australian plants, along with some made in China. Was it the set out? Was the name picked because the Art and Design students wanted to have a fancy, savoir faire kind of name? What was the meaning behind this garden? This garden, you will find on a map, but its meaning eluded me and does still.

As I walked amongst the bushes, delighted by lavender plants with empty blooms, the bees and a stray cat, I opened my senses. You see, listening to nature is not about only hearing nature, but feeling nature. Yes, that feeling could be by running your hands up and down bark or stroking a leaf. However, I am talking about the more intuitive kind of feeling. Think of it as active listening, but with nature instead of a human.

The Interview with the Mediterranean Garden

Various parts of the garden spoke to me. The made-in-China tree laughed in scorn at how ridiculous the name of the garden was. After all, a Mediterranean Garden in Australia with a tree made-in-China, the tree said. Then it asked Were these humans serious? I am a beautiful tree, but should not the name reflect the garden?

A tree wrapped in Christmas lights complained to me of the constriction. The tree didn't like wearing the tight wire with the garish lights. Was there not a different way the humans could have honoured its presence?

Trees lined the brick wall in pots like criminals in a line-up. However, I could identify none of them as the perpetrator who stole my carbon dioxide and transformed it into oxygen, allowing me to breathe. They each told me they wanted to communicate with each other via their roots in rich soil. The sun beat on them, as merciless as it was relentless. It was a cop beating a victim to confess to a crime they didn't commit. I shook my head in bafflement. Humans did such odd things in the name of art.

A bee buzzed near my feet, as I sat on one of the grass levels. It pointed out the area's usefulness as a garden to grow useful plants, perhaps as dyes. I stared at the bee. This was not a new idea. My tutor, Kirsten Hudson, had mentioned the very same thing. How strange, I thought, that a bee could know so much.

Silence fell. The garden had yielded up all the information it would. There was a tension underlying the area, as if the garden psyched itself up for the next round of students to occupy it without thought in the next year. I bid it farewell. This marked my final interview. I switched off my technology and walked back to my room, feeling exhausted. It was time to articulate what nature spoke.