During the summer before college started, most of my days revolved around traveling, working, and sleeping. (something that I don't do much anymore) While most people were taking their vacations in a slow and peaceful manner, I was always on the run, often volunteering at a hospital for hours upon hours and then speeding across town right after in order to make it on time for work. The summer was honestly hectic for me. Had it not been for a Bonsai tree that my great uncle gave me for my graduation, I would have lost most of my patience and tranquility that I have now.

In between things that I had to do and places that I had to be throughout the course of my day, I would usually find time to take care of this specific plant. Since it was still remotely young, I had to make sure that everything was perfect for its survival and growth. The soil always had to be moist, the climate had to be regulated, and the tree had to be arranged in a way where its growth would not be stunted. Why spend so much time on a measly plant? I do not know. I never complained. Regardless of the reason, working on the tree always seemed to calm and relieve me of any worries. The feeling was at the time inexplicable.

With Taniguchi's explanation of what a garden constituted, I have been able to identify now what happened when I was caring for my bonsai tree. The peace that was not evident during my busy day I managed to find in the raising of a tree. The plant turned out to be a miniature version of what Taniguchi had defined as a “garden:”

“When a man, with such pure appreciation in his peaceful mind tries to compose with stones, grass, and water in order to create one unified beauty—the formation is called a 'garden.'”

(Taniguchi, 769)

The usual “garden” that comes into our mind is of a cultivated and neatly arranged place where plants and other objects coexist in a peaceful manner, appealing to our senses. Taniguchi's idea of a garden seems to emphasize the spiritual side of things more so than the aforementioned aesthetic version. In effect, a “garden” should be a product of unity in our minds, where we should be able to “knock on the door of our conscience, which once was obliged to be the slave of the animal nature in man rather than of the humanity which resides on the other side of [our] hearts.” (Taniguchi, 768)

The “spirit of the garden” that Taniguchi advocates seems to be able to differ from person to person. Where he had constructed his as a reminder for us to remain true to humanity and peace, I had my bonsai tree serve as a retreat (neo-Confucian) for my mind to escape the usual “animal nature in man.” Regardless of how much the definition differs, there is an universal theme of unity in a garden, where it will serve as a place to contemplate and appreciate our true humanity.