A garden is a grand teacher. It teaches patience and careful watchfulness; it teaches industry and thrift; above all it teaches entire trust. Gertrude Jekyll
This is the first year that I have ever had a garden. Oh sure, I have enjoyed having a few tomato plants in the back yard before, but this is the first time that I have had anything even remotely close to a real garden. It’s not big, by any means, but it’s way more than I need!
I’m a bit surprised by how thoroughly I’m enjoying it. There’s just something so nourishing and soothing to my soul about digging in the dirt, planting some seeds or plants, watering them, and watching them grow. I did it the old fashioned way with a shovel, a trowel, lots of sweat and an extra long water hose. When the first green sprouts poked through the dirt towards the sunlight, it made my mouth curl into smile often. With delight and pride, I watched the beautiful crowns of broccoli fill out and thrive. It was fun to research and learn what in the heck kohlrabi is (you would think I would do that before planting it) and when and how to harvest and eat it. Because it is my first time planting, I’m learning as I go, and it occurs to me that the lessons from the garden are applicable to life.
I planted really early around the middle of April partly because that is when it worked with my schedule and partly because I had the impatience of a novice. Several times in those first couple of weeks, I had to stake out the area and cover the budding garden patch with sheets because of late frost and chilly nights. As with most things in life, a little patience would’ve saved me a lot of time and effort.
A man who is master of patience is master of everything else. George Savile
I already know that I seriously over planted and didn’t consider which plants are continual producers and which plants produce only once therefore I had six broccoli plants ready to harvest within days. While this was an overwhelming bounty for just me, I beamed when presenting friends and family gifts from the garden. Broccoli is a one time producer I have since learned. At first, this was disappointing news, but that is perfectly OK as it allowed me to put more seeds in the ground.
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end. Seneca
I didn’t think ahead about the placement of the plants as they grew to maturity. The broccoli plants were shading the kale too much. (So, it’s good that they are gone). The tomato plants are at the southern end of the garden. They shade everything behind them for a few hours in the middle of the day. I will know next year to put them at the northern end and to consider the height of the mature plants and the position of the sun. A little planning and foresight here will go a long way! While I don’t want to spend large amounts of time or energy dwelling in the future, just as in life, I will learn from my mistakes, anticipate the probable outcome next time and act accordingly in the present to create the future I want to see.
Planning is bringing the future into the present so that you can do something about it now. – Alan Lakein
I went outside one morning a couple of weeks ago to find that deer had eaten my tomato plants down to nubs. While it didn’t make me too happy that I wouldn’t be getting any tomatoes anytime soon, I found it fitting and reassuring even. The nibbling of the deer was a poignant reminder to me that I am a part of the web of life coexisting on this Earth as are the plants in the garden. The deer were just doing what came natural to them and fulfilling their role in that web of life. I got this natural deer repellent and sprayed it on the plants and around the perimeter of the garden. The gross smelling stuff, which contains dried blood, urine, and anchovies,makes me gag. I guess it has the same effect on the deer too because they haven’t been back.
Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect. Chief Seattle
While I thoroughly enjoy eating my veggies knowing that they are entirely organic and packed with nutrients having just been picked, I have to admit that I also feel a little sadness and guilt. I read Lynn McTaggart’s book, The Intention Experiment, a while back in which she tells of experiments done with plants and a lie detector like machine sensing electodermal activity. When a flame was held up to the leaf of a plant, the machine registered what would be interpreted as alarm. As I rip the kale leaves off or cut the broccoli stems, I wonder, “Can they feel that?” This helps me remember to eat mindfully giving thanks to the plants for their nourishment and to the sun, the rain, and the Earth for nurturing the plant I am consuming. I’ve found that, by extending gratitude for the simple things in my life, I am always rich.
Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. Melody Beattie