I contend, as readers of these posts know, that being a Red Sox fan is helpful training for the profession of arms control. So, too, is gardening.
At the ripe old age of 68, Thomas Jefferson wrote,
I have often thought that if heaven had given me a choice of my position and calling, it should have been on a rich spit of earth, well watered, and near a good market for the productions of the garden. No occupation is as delightful to me as the culture of the earth, and no culture comparable to that of the garden. Such a variety of subjects, some one always coming to perfection, the failure of one thing repaired by the success of another… But though an old man, I am but a young gardener.
Arms control, like gardening, is a deeply imperfect enterprise, riddled with false hopes, less-than-anticipated results, and endless frustration. Success, when it occurs, can be fleeting; real triumphs build up over time, and are greatly cherished. Positive outcomes are balm for the soul. But one can’t be in this line of work for the percentages.
Spring evokes great possibilities for the garden. The weeding comes later. Optimism and perseverance are keys to the twin enterprises of arms control and gardening; when mulched with pragmatism and experience, the results become more rewarding. Cynicism and defeatism do not improve soil quality, nor do they reduce nuclear dangers.
I am beholden to Janet Lembke for introducing me to Jefferson’s quote. Her book, Touching Earth, ends with the following lines:
Touching earth is a potent metaphor for renewing strength in all endeavors… It is also an act capable of restoring vitality, of healing … What Jefferson says is gospel. The body ages, but the spirit retains a youthful resilience. Touching earth is more effective than any fountain of youth or cucumber poultice for keeping the senses vigorous and encouraging the sweet rage of imagination. As he says, perfection is ever imminent, and success does repair failure. Best of all, hope springs ever green, ever seductive in the gardener’s heart.
I am living proof of the restorative powers of touching earth, here at the base of Tom Mountain in the Blue Ridge. We have cows for neighbors across the road.