Ordinary Magic

When we pulled back into our driveway after over a week of vacation, I was shocked to see the uproarious growth that had taken hold in my vegetable garden. Just before I left, I was bemoaning the seemingly slow advancement of my tomatoes and cucumbers. Apparently, compost application combined with two solid thunderstorms unleashed the full potential of my baby plants in our absence.

The crazy things is, this is not the first time this has happened.

And I always feel the same level of wonder.

Most of the plants in my garden started out as tiny seeds, some, all the way back in February. Now, in the heat of summer, they have flourished and sprawled to the point that I have difficulty walking my pathways.

For me, all of it is pure magic.

Sure, we can talk about the biological processes of how a seed turns into a plant, and basic soil science. We can discuss water and nitrogen cycles and photosynthesis. Then there are the various gardening techniques from conventional to straw bale.

But the fact of it is, there is a life force driving this whole thing that none of us can ever truly understand. The science is incredible and fascinating, don’t get me wrong. But beyond that, what powers this whole crazy thing we call life? What animates us all?

To quote Arthur C. Clark, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”

So, since I can’t explain certain things, I am content to consider, at least until we explain it with science, that it might just be magic. And I’m OK with that.

Science may never be able to explain some things, and the mystery that this permits, fills me with wonder. That feeling of wonder connects me to the mystery around everyone and everything. And when I feel that connection, I have the thought that maybe we should preserve the unknown, that we should leave a little mystery, that we should be content to not explain everything.

Yes, that is not popular for educated people to say. Perhaps its childish to believe in this way. But leaving mystery leaves room for possibility. For Imagination and creativity. For dancing and music and art and food and culture. For magic.

So, supposing that I am childish in my beliefs, well, OK then. Maybe my plants grew wild because of the nitrogen in the composted manure and the rain. They reached upward towards the rays of the sun as chloroplasts captured electron after electron, using that energy to form cellulose with carbon dioxide gathered from the air. Maybe the nutrients were shuttled to the roots via a complex fungal network in the soil. And all of this takes place due to millions of years of evolution, with DNA dictating each and every cellular mechanism at work.

Maybe all of that is true.

But at the end of the day, when I eat home grown produce, I still think its magic. Our star, the sun, sent light energy through space to my garden where my plants used the energy to make a gorgeous red fruit. So when I eat a ripe, sweet tomato, I consume a ray of sunlight. I consume the buzz of the bee that pollinated it and the soft and steady rain that watered it.

Given all of that, is magic is too strong a word?

I hope not. And I hope that we never explain everything. Because, I can still eat a tomato, consume the mystery, all of the things that we still do not understand, and be made of wonder.