The Myth of Finished

The cottage isn't as relaxing as it could be – when we look at the landscaping, we feel a kind of pressure. We don't talk about this feeling much, but it's there. It's the belief that the landscape is supposed to get to a place called "done."

You arrive at the cottage after a three-hour drive of red lights and stop-start. You get out of the car, relieved. You're looking forward to a glass of wine on the dock, some olives, the company of the loons.

But then you glance at the lawn and the bed in front of the kitchen window. And you sigh. You know that tomorrow you're going to have to get the mower out. And something needs to be done with the hydrangeas. All because it doesn't look like it should.

You're surrounded by this pressure. Just open the centre spread of Cottage Life, and right there is the perfect landscaping. The flowers are blooming, the lawn is trimmed, the family is smiling. It's done. They've made it.

Or look across to the neighbours. The planting around their driveway is perfect – the hostas are never eaten and the weeds are never arriving. The landscaping is finished and they've succeeded.

Which is why you're sighing as you get out of the car. We're waiting for the moment when – at last – we can sit back and relax because there's nothing more to do.

But there's a problem with this, and you feel it in your gut on that Friday evening.

You don't see the hours of prep that went into primping the landscape for the magazine spread. You don't know the pictures were taken in the golden hour when the light was just right. You haven't seen the week of weeding, of spraying, of mulching that your neighbours undertook while the blackflies ate their fill.

The work never ends because the destination doesn't exist. There is always something better, something new, something different. Perfection is always a weekend away.

On top of that, you're fighting nature – and nature is never done. The land is always changing: shrubs are growing, weeds are spreading, and flowers are dying back and going to seed. Nature is always becoming something else.

All this gets expensive. We're paying in lost Saturday mornings, replacement mulch, and soil amendments to keep something still that wants to keep moving. Every weekend and every summer.

What if we give up on done? Friday nights start feeling different. Instead of seeing what's wrong, you start noticing what's actually happening. You notice the last patch of snow at Easter. You see the new plant that arrived and started flowering. You notice how the light changes as you move from August to September.

Knowing this and living it are two different things. Those ready-made baskets of geraniums you buy on the May long weekend? They're done. It's how people talk when they ask, "Is your landscaping finished yet?" It's the voice in your head as you glance at your driveway and see the spent flowers and wrinkled leaves.

But you'll never be finished because the land is never finished. So the question is, what type of relationship do you want with land that is changing, whether you like it or not?