There are two things that I am especially obsessive
about. One is gardening and the other is
baseball. Neither of which are very sexy
in today’s culture but that’s okay with me.
I love them both for very different reasons.
So when I read through my e-mails this morning and
came across a baseball story called “The Constant Gardener” I just had to read it.
The article is written by Pat Jordan about his long-time
friend and baseball Hall of Famer, Tom Seaver.
Seaver’s career began several years before I was born but he was so good that he was able to pitch long enough that I got to see him join my beloved Red Sox for their historic
(and heartbreaking) 1986 season when I was old enough to appreciate his contribution to the game.
Seaver was known for his fastball, his bull-dog
determination, and his ability to strike out hitters. He’s a throwback to
another type of player. A real man’s man kind
of guy. What’s a guy like that doing as
the centerpiece for an article called “The Constant Gardener” I wondered?
As I read through the lengthy article I discovered that
after Seaver retired from baseball he eventually left his Greenwich, New York
home and bought a parcel of land in Calistoga, California which is in the heart
of the Napa wine country about 80 miles west of me here in Sacramento. Seaver converted the land into a vineyard and
his business, Seaver Family Vineyards, now produces about 600 cases of cabernet
each year.
Seaver grew up in Fresno, California where his father was in
the “raisin business”. Gardening didn’t
interest Tom until he got to the big leagues though. It was at that point that Seaver returned to his roots because discovered that gardening was a good way for him to relax
between the days he pitched.
"Outlining a vineyard," he said, "is the same as outlining your pitches for a game, or outlining an artwork. I shouldn't tell you this, 'cause I don't want you to think I didn't value my pitching. But if I could go back and have a second run at it, I'd have become an artist."
This quote from Seaver is amazing to me.
I never had the talent to play baseball at that level, but if I did I
can’t help but think that my achievements at that level would certainly go down as my life’s work. That I was put on this planet to play ball. That Tom Seaver would consider giving all
that up to be an artist, to do something like painting or gardening instead, is at once
absurd and wonderful.
He went silent for a moment, looking out over his property. Finally he said, "This was a blank palette when I first saw it. Now it's the most exciting thing I've ever done."
Because Seaver’s career came to an end in the mid-1980s he missed the period in baseball in which the
players started making the really big bucks.
Seaver earned over $1 million a year only twice in his 20 seasons. He made approximately $6
million total. That is a lot of money,
no doubt, but considering that the league minimum in 20013 is roughly $500,000 a year and the average annual salary of a baseball player is almost $3.5 million,
you could argue that Seaver would have been much better off financially if he had
been born a decade later.
When the author of the article asked him about missing out
on the big paydays, Seaver responded by saying:
"I started to lose interest," he said. "I wanted to go home. I couldn't do it anymore. I never was pissed I missed the big paydays. Be careful what you wish for, you might get it. If I'd made that $30 million a year, maybe I'd just have bought that huge, finished vineyard and let others do it all. I'd have missed out on the pleasure of being in the vineyards every day. My pleasure has always been in the work, not the ego."
As gardeners, I think we can all relate to this. I think there are probably times when we
think about how nice it would be to just write a check and have someone create
the garden we’ve always dreamed about.
But if we did that, we’d miss out on the work it took. And without that work, we’d miss out on the
understanding of the garden. And without
the understanding we lose our sense of accomplishment. And, quite frankly, I think Seaver was
right. The pleasure is in the work.
Seaver wanted to be an artist. But he was a Hall of Fame pitcher
instead. Now in his late 60’s, Seaver
finds that maybe he’s been an artist all along.
Just then, the sun came up on cue, click, like stage lights in a theater. It was a pale, reddish-blue color on an overcast day. Tom was disappointed. He'd wanted me to see it in all its fiery glory. Still, the sun's pale light on the vineyards was eerie and beautiful, the vines all darkish shadows without color, until they became a dark green flecked with purple as the sun rose higher, like a French Impressionist painting.
Tom said, "In a way, I'm painting this vineyard as if it was my artwork."
