What is Horticultural Therapy?

At the Rose Garden, NYBG

Finding horticultural therapy was like witnessing the pieces of a puzzle I had been working on my whole life fall gently and purposefully into place. I sometimes tell people that starting The Garden Doula was a midlife pivot. Gardening and growing have long been central to my sense of self, but my primary occupation kept me in front of a computer.

At first blush, the first four decades of my life were a jumble: A disparate set of explorations and passing fascinations, crammed around a “career” and the education and training required to establish it. But I see now that my life has in fact aligned into a purposeful narrative. Why did I decide to start a therapeutic garden consulting business in the middle of an intensive yoga teacher training? Before that, why was I drawn to my current home, an 18th century farmhouse? Before that, why did I start raising chickens and growing food while on my fertility journey? Before that, why did I leave an urban life and return to a rural setting more akin to the environment of my childhood? Before that, why did I leave an academic career focused on social, not natural, history? These choices are like bread crumbs marking my path to the present moment.

What is horticultural therapy? In short, it’s based on the notion that modern humans become physically, mentally, and emotionally drained by the near-incessant demands on our attention, but that nature can provide some relief. We are constantly called upon to use our senses and brains for directed attention—pinging devices, sprawling work days, over-programmed schedules, a churning 24-hour news cycle. That can lead to a miserable state called mental fatigue syndrome—you probably know what I’m talking about. The effects became particularly acute for many folks during the pandemic, especially those who found themselves locked indoors; in the thrall of news feeds and notifications drip fed by their various devices; or burdened with extra demands of child and elder care.

I have a high-energy seven-year-old. At the start of the pandemic she was four, and needy and a force! We live on 10 acres of farm land, so we never suffered cabin fever, and I’m not on social media or particularly drawn to screens, but my pandemic life was nonetheless locked down by directed attention—multi-tasking, problem-solving, nonstop distraction. No quiet walks in nature, no catching up on my reading list, little time in the garden except to notice what wasn’t getting weeded, watered, or fed.

But… that’s also how I lived my life pre-pandemic! Constant motion, constant focus, constant exhaustion. At the same time, I was always aware of a deep pull toward the natural world. The respite I have always found there has been the antidote not only to my particular burdens and life experiences, but also to the pressing demands of twenty-first century living.

Last week, my neighbor was hosting an art exhibition in his gorgeously restored barns, and my daughter and I had the good fortune to meet the artist, Stephen Zaima. Zaima shared with my daughter a quote inspired by art critic Harold Rosenberg: Painting is an arena for overreaction. A lot has changed since the 1950s, when Rosenberg coined the term “action painting” to describe the way artists like Jackson Pollock used the canvas as an extension of their own churning minds. In 2022, it can feel like life itself is the arena for overreaction. As I quipped some such thought to Zaima, I looked across the road, towards my gardens and view of the mountains, and realized, If life is modern life is an overreaction, nature is the antidote.

And that’s what horticultural therapy tries to harness. In my experience, most humans carry some burden of trauma, are on some journey of healing, and can benefit from a daily restorative dose of nature. For those facing additional physical, emotional or cognitive challenges, the need can be even more pressing. In this tumultuous moment in human history, I am grateful to have the support of my family, friends and community so that I might take the time to gather the bread crumbs of my life, use them to nourish myself, and try to bring that healing to others as well.