The Laughingthrush, the New Garden, Half a Day Busy and Half a Day Free
In the morning, when I open the window of my study, I can always hear the clear, melodious call of a Chinese hwamei (laughingthrush). I do not know whether it is a bird kept by a household downstairs or a wild one in the woods below; though I have never seen them, my mood as I begin a new day's work is made immeasurably better by the hwamei's song.
The morning is busy; there are many patients' problems to solve. From eight to twelve there is rarely a free moment. Sometimes I have to work until one or two in the afternoon; when things are busy, lunch is just fruit and a snack to fill my stomach. If there are no problems to solve, I take one of the heavy tomes from my bookshelf and chew through it slowly. A medical person who does not read for a day feels uneasy; one always feels there is still too much one does not know. One should learn something every day; only by constantly studying can one make fewer mistakes at work.
Throughout the morning all kinds of bird calls come from outside the window, the hwamei's song among them. Though the birdsong of the city is not as spectacular as that of the mountains, in spring and summer there are many singing birds in the woods below, so it sounds quite pleasant. When tired, I stand up and move about, gazing at the blue sky, white clouds and green trees outside, listening to the chorus of birds; everything feels beautiful. Sometimes I strike a singing bowl, echoing the birds. Before I know it, self and nature have merged into one. Human beings are children of nature; once back in nature's embrace, one no longer knows what sorrow is.
Most days I make a simple lunch myself. After lunch I take a half-hour nap, then get up to read, look up some references and write an article; once that is done, I have finished all the work that must be completed that day. With the chores out of the way and my mind at ease, I go out, mount my bicycle, and ride cheerfully all the way to the foot of Xiangshan (Fragrant Hills) to potter about in my little vegetable garden.
The small plot I leased last year expires in a month and a half. But just before May Day, I found and leased a new garden about a kilometer from the old one. This May Day, our family went to break the ground of the new garden and planted it full. Right now the greens in the old garden are already enough for our family of three. In a month and a half, some of the vegetables planted in the new garden should be ready to eat, so the handover will be just right.
The newly leased garden is small, only a few dozen square meters. On a plot of two or three mu there are dozens of households growing vegetables, each tending a tiny patch, and some small gardens have not been rented out at all. Because it is close to the Xishan ash memorial forest and the Wan'an cemetery, some people may find such a place unsettling, so this garden area is not bustling. Each time I go, I run into only a handful of people; it is quite quiet.
Occasionally I greet the neighbors who grow vegetables alongside me and chat for a few words, and then we each go about our own business. I am a bold sort and an atheist, and when I worked the land as a child in my hometown, our fields and the village graves were mixed together. So I feel quite relaxed in a place like this and do not find it the least bit off-putting.
There is not much work in the vegetable plot. After a year of gardening, I have learned to take the weeds in my garden for granted and no longer take offense at them. Each time I go, I just water the vegetables, pick some greens and cut some garlic chives to take home; I let the weeds grow cheerfully and do not pull them unless I have to. This way, twenty or thirty minutes is all it takes to finish everything. The older woman in the next plot always marvels at how briskly I work—a country kid is quick at this sort of farmwork.
It is the round trip that costs me more than an hour. Each day I treat the gardening and cycling as my exercise. This open land at the foot of Xiangshan is well greened, with woods everywhere and good air quality. Exercising in such a place truly refreshes the heart and mind.
On the way back I am always sweating. If I time it just right, I can pick up my wife at her school shuttle stop on her way home from work. The two of us ride back together, cook dinner together, and wait for our child to come home to eat. Over the meal I banter a few words with our child, and the family is warm and content; I am not lonely at all.
After dinner and a shower, I can read whatever books I like to my heart's content. Over the past six months or so, my favorite reading has been popular-science works on evolutionary medicine and biology; I have read dozens of them, and every day brings some new gain.
In the past I viewed the world from a human standpoint. After reading some works on evolutionary medicine and biology, I realized that I had been confined to a narrow “anthropocentrism,” taking self-interested humanity far too seriously; thus, blinded by a single leaf, I could not see the great mountain.
Now I have gradually become a thoroughgoing naturalist, feeling that from nature's point of view, whether humans exist or not, or even whether living things exist or not, makes little difference. I myself have gradually returned to the authentic state of life; my demands on life grow fewer, and the worries in my heart are fewer than before. The mountains and rivers are grand, the world is broad; the old gardener's heart is at leisure. Let those who love to vie for supremacy contend over the world; while my bones and sinews are still strong, I will spend a few good years tending my garden.