Benched #14: carved and growing legacies

John Bartram made my thinking, while on this week's chosen bench, a matter of life and death.

I was sitting in a national historical site named Bartram’s Garden.  Named after the father of American botany, the 44-acre property is incongruously tucked into West Philly along the banks of the Schuylkill River. It’s encased on three sides by row houses, trolley lines and hot pavement. Think of it as The Property That Time Forgot. 

But John Bartram’s loves have not been forgotten.  And as I sat, looking at his house and grounds, I wondered – not for the first time – about what we leave behind when we go.  Defining my legacy is a part of what this Benched pursuit is about: finding the best use of my remaining years, not simply to entertain myself, but to bless those around me.

John had something to say to me about it.

From what I could see, he had three great passions: stonework, botany and his family.  Each was on display, more than two centuries after his death.  Each spoke to me about legacies.

Carved in stone.  Bartram not only fashioned his house out of hewn rock, he included hand-carved messages. One is a simple, profound statement of faith.  One is dedicated to his marriage.  (More on this in a minute.) And one pictures his fascination with plants.



In each of our lives, there are artifacts we leave behind – physical objects we create that have meaning and value to loved ones.  I have a large collection of illustrations, an ongoing set of journals, and a pancake I made in 1976, though I’m not sure my kids share my nostalgia for that last one. Those artifacts are set. Unchangeable.  And in a way, their unchanging nature is what makes them treasured. They are statements of the moment.



Planted.  There are also things we create that continue to change and grow after we’re gone. Bartram’s plantings – in particular a cutting from a rare tree he discovered that no longer can be found in the wild – have a life that continue beyond his.  Part of our legacies are things we “plant,” particularly in the sensibilities of our kids, but also when we pass on a passion to our friends. Researchers tell us that happiness can be viral, affecting not only our friends but our friends’ friends.  I ask myself: what am I planting that will continue to grow?

Finally, there is a poignant reminder in all this to not take time for granted.  Ann Bartram, named in the carving above, was Bartram’s second wife.  His first wife, Mary, had died only four years into their marriage, right before he started building his house.  No one had to remind John that time was fleeting.

But I appreciate that John reminded me.