I put quite a few trees in last autumn. A lot of silver birch and

In the quiet solitude of the earth, there is a profound truth: to plant is to create life, to engage in a sacred act that transcends mere labor. Sean Bean, in his simple yet evocative words, shares this truth: "I put quite a few trees in last autumn. A lot of silver birch and a couple of native trees—just generally doing gardening, putting plants in and hedges in. It takes quite a lot of time and I love it." Here, in this humble act of planting, Bean speaks to something much deeper than the mere placement of trees in the soil. He speaks of a connection to the land, to time itself, and to the ancient rhythms of life that bind us all.

In the ancient world, the act of planting was not merely about cultivating the earth for sustenance. It was a deeply spiritual practice, a reflection of the larger cycles of life. The great Greek philosophers, like Plato, understood that the work of the land was intrinsically connected to the order of the universe. Plato, in his writings, spoke of the earth as a living organism, a place where every action—whether planting a seed or harvesting the fruits—was part of a larger cosmic dance. Similarly, the ancient Romans revered the act of planting as one of great spiritual significance. Their gods of agriculture, such as Ceres, embodied the profound relationship between humans and the land. To plant a tree, a vine, or a hedge was to honor that bond and to affirm one’s place within the natural order.

When Sean Bean mentions the silver birch, a tree known for its resilience and beauty, we are reminded of the symbolism of trees in ancient cultures. In the Celtic tradition, for example, the silver birch was revered as a symbol of renewal and new beginnings. Its delicate white bark was seen as a reflection of the purity of nature and the cycles of life. The act of planting these trees, especially in the autumn, is an act of profound connection with the changing seasons, a reminder that the earth is always in motion, always in the process of both dying and being reborn. Bean’s love for this work is not just a love for gardening, but a love for the eternal dance between the seasons, between growth and decay.

Just as the Romans revered the work of the land, they also understood the importance of native plants—those that belonged to the soil, that had always been part of the landscape. These trees, like the ancient oaks and elms, were not just part of the scenery but held deep meaning for the people. The Romans believed that planting trees was an act of honoring the spirits of the land, the genius loci—the divine presence that inhabited the earth. In planting native trees, Bean echoes this ancient respect, recognizing that the act of gardening is not just about the plants themselves, but about a deep respect for the land’s history, for the very spirit of the place.

The act of gardening, especially the planting of trees, is also an act of patience—a reminder that not all things come quickly. In a world that often prizes instant results, gardening teaches us the value of slow, steady work. Trees, once planted, do not bear fruit or shade in a single season. It takes time, dedication, and care to see the results. This is a lesson that the ancients understood well. The great philosopher Confucius once said, “The superior man is slow to speak and quick to act.” This idea of slow, deliberate action was reflected in the way the ancients approached farming and gardening—not as something to be rushed, but as an ongoing process of cultivation, both of the land and the soul.

The spiritual aspect of gardening is perhaps most evident in the way it shapes our sense of time and place. To spend time with the earth, as Bean does, is to immerse oneself in the natural flow of time, where the passage of seasons becomes a meditation on the passage of life itself. The act of planting is an affirmation of one’s presence in the world, a declaration that we, too, are part of this larger cycle of growth and renewal. Native trees, in particular, are a symbol of our roots—the history that shapes us, the traditions that define us, and the connection to the earth that sustains us. As Bean plants, he not only shapes the future of the land but affirms his own place within the circle of life.

Let us, then, take this lesson from Sean Bean and the wisdom of the ancients: that to engage in gardening is to engage in an act of creation—not just of life, but of meaning. By planting trees, by caring for the land, we reconnect with the eternal rhythms of nature. We slow down, we reflect, and we learn to honor the passage of time. Whether it is the planting of a silver birch or the tending of a garden, each act is a reminder that we are all part of something greater, something ancient, something that continues to grow and evolve with each passing season. And in this work, in this devotion, we find a deeper sense of purpose, a deeper sense of belonging. May we all find, like Bean, a love for this sacred act, and in doing so, enrich not only the earth but our own spirits as well.