Softening does not always reduce. Many gardeners have learned that there is a balance between letting go and entering. Wildflowers, climbers and self-sown plants thrive in their freedom, but their beauty is often brought out by the gentle hand of cultivation. This paradox—the discipline of uncontrollability—is not just about farming. It is also about how we go through life.
There is a love of wildflowers: Queen Anne’s lace swaying in the breeze, sunflowers turning their faces to the sun, the universe stretching endlessly into the sky. But without some guidance, that wilderness can be overwhelming. A self-sowing poppy can overwhelm its neighbors, and a morning glory left unchecked can suffocate climbing structures. Chaos has its beauty—until it isn’t.
At our farm, we take a simple approach. We take nothing for granted—not even our dahlias—in part because we believe that flowers should grow as they are, naturally. It is a kind of cooperation with nature, where each flower finds its place in the rhythm of the garden. The only exception is our precious chrysanthemums, which we grow using traditional methods of grafting. Their straight lines are not just part of their beauty; they memorize their history and the ability to nurture them.
Raising insanity is not strict control. It’s about creating balance—a framework in which freedom thrives. The gardener may trim the zinnia to give its friends more space or step back and let the cosmos piece bend and move naturally. This is not about forcing order but about growing what is already there, giving each plant room to flourish without taking up space.
Gardening teaches us the importance of boundaries. A wild or cottage garden, thoughtfully planted, becomes a combination of different elements: the relaxation of the atmosphere next to upright lupines, the airy light of grass next to the bright rudbeckia. The farmer becomes both an artist and a conductor, bringing together the harmony that emerges from the opposition of competing voices.
That balance between freedom and control isn’t just in the garden—it affects every part of life. In relationships, creativity, and even personal growth, we face the same tension. Too much freedom, and we lose direction. It’s very controlling, and we prevent automation. Wild discipline reminds us to embrace both: allowing the unexpected while guiding with purpose.
Nature shows us this lesson everywhere. The river carves its own path but is shaped by the bank that carries it. The forest grows in the wild, however the trees form the natural composition of the vegetation. Even the most violent parts of nature find their way to a kind of borderline—a peaceful coexistence between chaos and order.
On our farm, this flexibility is found with climbers such as clematis. Left alone, its ropes twist and stretch uncontrollably, overtaking everything around it. But when you are directed to climb an arch or trellis, its flowers reach new heights. In working with them, we reveal its full potential—not by suppressing its nature but by working with it.
Both in life and in the field, cultivating the unruly requires patience. It’s about knowing when wildness adds richness and when it needs a gentle hand. The art of cultivating this balance is not about perfection. It’s about allowing nature—and us—to grow freely, with just enough guidance to thrive.
Wild discipline is about finding beauty in the tension between chaos and control. It’s about allowing the unactivated to flourish without losing your place in the whole. In this puzzle, we discover that cultivating wilderness does not mean reducing it, but helping it shine—in the garden and in us.
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