Dionysus v. Apollo, redux

Any metaphor worth stretching too far is worth repeating too often.  From a chicken-brained point of view, the fundamental inadequacy of your argument should always be obfuscated by the superficiality of your affect.  To that end, we submit that our little urban homestead is increasingly a microcosm of the age-old conflict between two different paradigms -- the orderly and poetic on the one hand, represented by Apollo, and the natural and chaotic on the other, represented by Dionysus.

We, of course, are attempting to produce enough fruits and veggies to provide all our dietary needs.  Naturally, this means we have planted all sorts of "intentional" looking things, like pecan trees, pomegranate trees, olive trees, corn, squash, etc.  These plants require a lot of tender loving care; pecans are notoriously thirsty; we have heavily mulched our baby and built a clay retaining wall to assist this needy little artist in its never-ending quest to get enough water.  However, the entrance to our property is announced by a beautiful little yellow flower, sprouting from a prickly-pear which never actually needs any attention at all.  We'll be harvesting more fruit from the poet, true, but the libertine is, at present, far more aesthetically attuned.  Curiously, the cactus, lacking in artificial discipline, has a natural discipline which serves us well; we manufacture the protection for the pecan, but the cactus brings its own.

Who is the harder worker, we wonder?

Likewise, the Apollonian domesticated seedless grapes will eventually be less work for us than the wild, Dionysian mustang grapes, particularly in the matter of getting rid of the pits, but Apollo is not nearly so productive as his eastern cousin.  The fact is, this is a beautiful grape vine, and it will some day be an attractive shade provider for a bench we intend to place on one side of this arbor... but it is really nothing compared to the vast, sprawling wild grapes in our faerie ring area, and around the back porch, and along the fence between the pond and our neighbors...

At this point in the conversation, we really must mention the Greek notion of ergon; what is the proper thingness of a thing?  If that sounds like a horrible translation to you, congratulations! You're paying attention!  Meanwhile, of course, there is a reason for this apparent lack of etymological deftness -- "ergon" doesn't really translate all that well, but the idea is a fairly straightforward one:  each object in existence may best be given a particular application.  The "ergon" of a toothbrush is the collection of qualities which contribute to the use of a toothbrush in dental hygiene, for example.  the "ergon" of a knife is the sharpness which allows it to cut steak.  Or broccoli.  Different knife, of course, so slightly different ergon.  With us so far?

Good.  Because the "ergon" of a domesticated seedless grape is fundamentally different from that of a wild grape.

The wild grape is useful both as a border, and also as a wine producing crop.  It looks beautiful, but it is beautiful in a completely different way from the seedless cousin.

In short, we happen to like the balance struck in our garden at present.  We have plenty of "tame" plants, but they are almost always paired with a "wild" neighbor.  Marigolds and basil, meet catnip and anise.

Olives and pomegranates, meet black-eyed-susans.

Speaking of wildflowers....

Until next time...

Happy farming!