The Year the Garden Took Over

Views of our vegetable garden: early Spring, early Summer, early Fall, and early Winter

​I will remember 2021 was the year that our garden took over.
 
Perhaps it’s no accident that this was also a very difficult year for me personally. I will not deny that the garden provided a kind of escape for me, a sanctuary; a place I could go and lose myself for an hour or a day. But it was so much more than that. There is a lot of wisdom in a garden, wisdom that comes mostly through one’s hands and not through one’s head. The wisdom I found there goes well beyond knowledge of how to grow plants successfully. I believe most of these lessons apply to my art practice, and probably the rest of my life as well.  Here’s some of the lessons the garden taught me this year:

• Planning is essential. So is improvisation. 
  Those of you who know me already know planning is not my strong suit. I have dabbled in gardening for many years now, but everything changed when we hired a landscape designer to help us turn our front yard into a native plant garden (goodnaturedlandscapes.com/). She not only planned the plantings, she designed pathways and a seating area. She turned the garden into a place: not just something to look at, but a space to dwell. That was a huge insight for me, and that allowed me to do the same for the back yard. Planning gave me a vision, and took the guesswork and stress out of every little decision. 
  
  Improvisation is my strong suit, and it is also necessary. There were times when the plans called for plants that failed, or couldn't be found. There were also plants I had that were thriving that were not part of the plans. While I stuck to the plan as much as possible, I also gave myself the freedom to "riff" a little.  That has made it more personal- which reminds me of another key lesson from the garden that I learned: a garden is really a reflection of the gardener. Elaine noticed this right away. She has told visitors that you can really see how I think by walking through the garden. I found that to be a little scary, but she's right. 
  
  
• You can only do what you can do. And that’s enough.
  I started out in the garden all Gung-ho: just me, a fancy new wheelbarrow, a couple of shovels, elbow grease, and gritty determination. It took about three weeks before I was in physical therapy for strained rotator cuffs in both shoulders. I had to learn the hard way to accept my limitations.  Learning that (as much as I have learned it) has been a bit of a blessing. Doing less labor means sitting and watching the garden more. The whole family has pitched in to move mulch, stone, and do the weeding, and I love that they are invested in the space. Speaking of weeds, sometimes I let the weeds go for awhile, and they turn out to be lovely. (Except for creeping Charlie- that stuff is the worst!). Given time, the plants will grow and spread, and the bare patches will take care of themselves. There is so much abundance in the garden, sometimes you just have to let go and let it do its thing. 
  
• Feed the soil, not the plant 
  This is an adage that is part of permaculture gardening, and I am already seeing how true it is. Areas where I have been feeding the soil and leaving it undisturbed for three years are the areas where plants just explode out of the ground. The beds I prepared in the past year are still doing well, but nothing like the older beds. I've been thinking of how this might apply to other areas of my life. In my art practice,at times I think too much about "feeding the plant" (growing the business) and not "feeding the soil" (making the things that feed my soul, generate new ideas, resting). I'm trying to shift that focus, but it's difficult for me. 
  
• For God’s sake, don’t make everything practical 
  In the vegetable garden I am always tempted to make sure every square inch of soil grows something edible, in spite of all the books that recommend growing flowers like marigolds which help with pest prevention. This year, with the expanded vegetable garden, I gave myself permission to grow sunflowers, marigolds, and zinnias, as well as a few flowering natives. I am so happy I finally made that decision! While it's true that those plants turned out to be practical in a way (increased pollinators) the real benefit was to me. I cannot tell you how much joy those flowers gave me. I spent hours back there- reading, watching the hummingbirds, and just sitting. I really wanted to just be in the presence of those flowers, to bask in their beauty and abundance. You can bet I'll be planting more flowers in the Spring. 
  
• Gardens are not just about beauty, they are about hope.
  We are all used to seeing images of gardens in there full glory, and when I started gardening I would pour through those images and think to myself  "yes- I want that!" Of course, when I actually started to garden, I was putting tiny seeds or seedings into the ground. That majesty I envisioned seemed impossibly far away. I learned that you have to embrace the promise and the mystery of the plant. How is it possible that a seed barely bigger than a grain of sand can grow into an 8' tall okra plant? Is it going to grow at all? The inevitable answer is "wait and see." That is a hopeful answer. Often that hope is rewarded. But sometimes there is disappointment when the plant doesn't grow. But even then that disappointment comes with a gentle prodding: "why don't you try again?"  I am very thankful for that sense of hope, and for the sense of wonder that goes with it.