I ventured off in new directions on the last morning of my stay at Buckfast Abbey. I went through the gate marked private, the one that led to the hiking trails. I turned right instead of left.
I discovered that the Abbey was a large campus of buildings. I passed a building dedicated to offices and meeting rooms. It looked like a place accountants and office managers fantasize about when they’re stuck vacationing on a beach.
Another building housed workshops, saws, drills, workbenches, it was closed, no one was in sight. Through the window I could see large pieces of furniture on the carpenter’s operating table.
The building across from the workroom was the brewery. It was closed as well, it was Saturday morning. I don’t know if this was the same building where Brother Mark (a chemist in his previous life) mixed the tonic wine, but I could see large metal vats like those I’ve seen in beer breweries.
I turned around, a very old man riding an electric scooter had motored up behind me. We said hello.
He wore a black, fleece jacket. He was bald and his glasses were gold-wire framed. I recognized him, vaguely, as one of the Brothers. He asked if I was enjoying my stay.
I swallowed the fear I held that I should feel guilty for wandering into this area and taking photos. It was a phantom fear, Brother Sebastian was merely on a stroll and happened upon me. He told me that he was the oldest monk in the place. He was 92 years old. He’d been a monk since he was twenty-one.
I had many questions, but I couldn’t think of what to ask him. It wasn’t an interview, it was a conversation so I tried to let it flow naturally, like I talk to 92 year-old Benedictine Monks all the time.
He said he was happy with his choice to become a monk, he felt called.
He said that he’d led a good life. He was now retired, had big troubles with his spine and was no longer able to walk, so he couldn’t do much but hang out at the Abbey. When you become a monk it’s for life, you have no money, the abbey takes care of you. Previously, I learned that they can go on vacations and the abbey will give them the money they need while away (they mainly visit friends and family- no trips to party in Ibiza).
I told him how much I was enjoying my stay. I mentioned that it was giving me a lot of time to think, the atmosphere encouraged it. I also felt an urge, once again, to explain myself and my presence at the abbey. I told him I wasn’t Catholic, I was raised Christian, but I’m not a practicing Christian. I told him that I was exploring that aspect of my life and I felt the abbey was giving me an opportunity to gain some clarity.
Sebastian nodded, almost like he wasn’t interested. He said that he wouldn’t try and convert me to Catholicism or anything like that, “But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll say some prayers for you. Prayers that you find your way.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded like only a 92 year old Benedictine monk can nod.
We bid each other well and I continued my exploration deeper into what I incorrectly imagined as the forbidden zone.
I walked past a building that had a water screw generating power, just like a water wheel but it’s a screw. Cool.
I crossed a bridge over the river. A greenhouse was to my left. A woman worked with some of the plants in front of the Greenhouse.
A large building stood on my right. In front of me was a lovely view of a meadow. I meandered about the area. I was curious about the greenhouse but I didn’t have the nerve to walk up and start asking questions. That’s when fate intervened.
The woman called out to me, asking if I needed something, if I was lost.
I explained who I was. She said that she was just concerned I was looking for something. I asked her if these were all the plants that I’d seen on the grounds of the Abbey. She said, “Yes, would you like to have a look?”
Boy, would I !!!
She led me into the greenhouse and launched into an impromptu private tour. I can’t remember so much of what she said but it was fascinating. She had such love for her work. It showed in the way she effortlessly expressed her vast knowledge of the plants, how they grew, where they were from, what they needed.
She’d point to an area of plants and tell me all about them, why they had them, how they cared for them. She told me that many of the plants were in a particular area of the greenhouse that wasn’t heated because they were being hardened.
I asked if it was like moving through levels of care in the hospital. She said it was somewhat so. The plants needed to move from the heated area, to the non-heated covered area, and then be planted outside. It was preparation for the weather. She said the cell walls actually harden, toughen up.
Her name was Maya, she was one of a team of full time gardeners for the abbey. She was in on her day off because she was working with a particular species of plant she was growing as part of her master’s thesis. The plants were tropical, medicinal, the name began with an “M,” and to my consternation, I can’t remember their name. They’re the ones under the incubator tarp.
Maya explained that she had a degree in- ...once again, can’t remember the name, but it wasn’t botany. Might’ve been horticulture. She got into this profession by chance.
Somewhere between a few and many years ago, her husband got sick. It was cancer. She never said if he beat it and I didn’t ask. I got the impression that the cancer won. At the time, she had children, a house, and an untended garden. The city told her she had to tend to her garden because it was overgrown and unsightly.
She knew little about gardening, but she went at it. She tended, and she found she liked it. The time spent in the garden was a time of peace, away from the responsibilities of leading a family while your husband is fighting cancer.
Out of necessity, she learned a little bit online and from books about caring for plants. Her garden grew.
She planted more, learned more, spent more time in the garden. She loved learning about the plants, she loved the escape, learning how they grow, loved discovering how many seemingly countless species of plants covered the earth.
She signed up for classes, she got a certificate in (horticulture?). She volunteered at community gardens. She got a job at the abbey. She’s now a full time gardener performing a scientific study on a particular species of medicinal tropical plant from the Maldives.
Listening to her gave me hope that I will find something like Maya’s gardening. You just do it. You plant some seeds and some of them grow, some of them don’t. You experiment with new plants, new things grow, and new worlds open up. People and things grow, and people and things die. You either feel a calling or it grows one cell at a time. You enjoy the process, the bloom, and the life cycle, and it’s better when tended to.
Travelman out.
!steemitworldmap 50.4919 lat -3.7766 long Maya the Gardener and Sebastian the Monk- Buckfast Abbey, England, d3scr
That was beautiful. What if the thing you are trying to find is what you already are? You seem at your most comfortable when you are searching , wandering and wondering. I believe we don't need to find anything, but instead we need to be found. Thanks for this today Travelman.
Glad you liked it. I liked this one too. It came out effortlessly and I unconsciously gave it layers of meaning, like when I reread it, I was like, wow, I didn’t even know I did that there. It’s encouraging, it makes me feel like I’m becoming a better writer. But it’s a never ending road. It’s inevitable that I’ll feel my thoughts are ineffable again soon. (I think I wrote this entire reply to use the word ineffable. And I didn’t even use it entirely correctly. I kind of wedged it in there, like an octagon into a septagon.)
I don’t know what you mean by “we need to be found.” Can you elaborate? As it is it now, to me it sounds like, “I don’t think life has meaning, I think meaning is life.” Or “One must not learn to cook, but cook to learn.” Or “One must not throw out aphorisms, but -... ...but, um, afore to mention throwing up?” ...No. Damn, I stalled out.
I think the answers to who we are and what our purpose is in life do not come from inside ourselves. We didn't make ourselves, we didn't create what is all around us..If there is a God (and you know I believe there is)then it makes sense that the purpose of creating us would be for relationship. If so, then God is trying to connect with us (find us). I like the prayer "God show me yourself in a way that I can understand." I think it invites being "found". Try it..and let me know how it goes. Always on your side..Travel on Travelman!
Trying to figure out a way to make a living and pay for healthcare by wandering and wondering, and napping
What a great place to regenerate your mind and soul. Lovely walking with you through the gardens and greenhouse. Interesting post, I really enjoyed reading about the old priest and the green house keeper. 🐓🐓
Thanks I’m so glad. Your comment made me feel great
Great story! Enjoy your journey, I am sure you'll one day found that some seeds you have planted (maybe even without kñowing), have started to grow
Yeah, I trust in that. I’m glad you like my story and grateful for the compliment. I don’t know if there’s anything I like more than someone liking my writing.
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