From May 7th, 2017
Hey there! It's been a minute. May has come and gone faster than I expected; and was an unexpected spell of downtime - probably a good thing. We hosted grandparents, had a little getaway, and then I was visited by the ghosts of illness past, going from a sinus infection to strep throat. Not a good thing. All the while, I'd check on our little corner plot, see it thriving without me, gather some tomatoes, offer some water and head back inside, looking back just once more to be sure it didn't need extra attention. While I was (and am) glad that nothing has died and needs to be replanted, I'm also a little bummed to be past the excitement of planting and active tending. Given last year's death-to-harvest ratio, I should be thrilled to have a fairly low -maintenance garden that's actually producing food. Right? Yes and No. My hands miss the dirt.
In the downtime, I found myself confronted by the Green-eyed Gardener. I've "Oooo'd" and "Ahhh'd" more established gardens with more experienced stewards. I've side-eyed my few containers, lamented my beginner status, and started dreaming of expansion. Thoughts of "Grow more! Grow more now!" have taunted me. But I know better! I should be enjoying these living things and patiently awaiting their yield. I should be reveling in gratitude. So, to shake off this frustration of wanting to build my dream green space right now, I’m reflecting on last year, and even earlier this year when my fingers were crossed, and one eye was closed, hoping for the best.
The last year garden: June - August 2016
These pictures make me smile now. I took them to capture a beginning I was so proud of - leggy seedlings, bad transplants and all. Even the sparse tomato plant that slowly yielded tangy, red grapes had me beaming. Oh, and finally using the router bits to make planters!? You couldn’t tell me nothin’. Already, even before this post is complete, those monstrous green eyes of discontentment are losing their glow.
April 28, 2020
I never finished this post because honestly, we received news that was a heavy blow at the time, and the disappointment felt defeating (That’s a separate post. Trust me.) I lost inspiration. Well, that isn’t entirely accurate. At that time I was also writing a set of essays for an environmental arts magazine – LOAM–, and I did’t have the energy to do both. So I focused on the commitment I made, and completed a four-part series on suburban homesteading.
Over the past few years, I have revisited the blog, and drafted new posts dozens of times; but they felt rote and hollow… inauthentic. Couldn’t do it. I needed to wait for the return of my muse, or maybe inspiration never left, and I just needed to heal enough before I could hear that voice again. (Fellow writers: You feel me?)
Anyway, reading this now, nearly 3yrs later when things are so different, this post that I started writing to curb my greedy green eyes, still makes me smile. Because what I’ve learned after moving, and building a larger garden in the spring of 2018, and then an even bigger one this spring, is that once you’ve got the bug for gardening, Expansion is an ever-whispering companion. The difference between the growth we pursue now, and the wilting want I was feeling in 2017, is that this desire born from love of the craft vs. envy. Surprise surprise… I am still literally and figuratively growing through the practice of gardening.
The little big garden, and chicken coop at our new home in NC.