The Eternal Constancy of Gardening
Gardening, it can make or break your heart, and this year it sure broke it. I had high hopes. Roses, dahlias, wildflowers… you name it, I probably planted it. From an English garden-themed garden bed, to a prairie grasses one. I was so looking forward to it. Nutrients were added to the soil, stakes we installed carefully and oh, so perfectly in line.
Once the winter/spring thaw happened, the sense of anticipation took over. But just as that happened, disaster struck—gopher and moles. Wait, what? I specifically used garden beds to avoid this! And then the dread of the Midwest in insect form—Japanese beetles. My heat screamed as I first noticed them. And the more I picked them, the more they came. At one point the rose bushes were covered—COVERED—in them. It was gross and so disheartening. Then the corn rootworm beetle decided to join the party. It was chaotic.
Normally, I would take a deep breath and tackle them, but I just could not keep up. And for the first time in my gardening life, I gave up. Threw my hands in the air and just plain gave up. Was that the easy way out? Absolutely. Did it make me feel better? NOT AT ALL.
That was back in July. Since then, I have avoided looking at the little garden from the deck. My focus has been the potted plants on my deck— an assortment of various cherry tomato varieties, and herbs. But the garden has fallen by the wayside. By the way, did you know that a little garden turns into a jungle when weeds and goodness know what else starts growing. A few times I was brave enough to go back and see the carnage. But just gave up. Between a new job that keeps me busy, health issues, and just life, it was easy to take an “out of sight, out of mind" approach. And it worked… until this past weekend.
With a lot of determination, I put of my gloves and went to work. It was hard and sweaty work. Some of the stuff growing, taking roots so deep that destroyed the garden beds. The constancy I love about gardening—the symbolic taking roots and finding home—became my nemesis, as I tried to pull weeds that seemed like tree trunks. Yeap, they sure made themselves at home. As I worked, I kept berating myself for letting the garden get like this. It was my fault. If only I had not given up. If only, I had fought harder and persist. If only…
After two hours, I stood back and looked at the final results, clean beds and a pile of greenery, weeds, and stuff. That was hard work, but there is something so satisfying about clean garden beds, ready for winter. And in that moment I knew—I learned my lesson. In life I try not to give up on anything, but here I did. I felt like a garden failure. Because isn’t that how we feel when we give up on something, especially something we love?
And I knew in that moment that I will be back next year. Probably with the same trials, the same pests, the same issues. But I’ll be back. To dig in the soil, plant the seeds, and watch them grow when spring arrives. And in that cycle is where I find the joy. The constancy of gardening gives me a sense of home. Of belonging. The past few months I have felt out of sorts. Yes, all the issues in life are contributing to it, but you what I realized as I stood watching the pile of debris? That what I was feeling was not discontent with my life. It was the sense of home my garden gives me. So, I put away the tools, went back to the bare garden and taking a deep breath I said “Until next year, little garden. I promise you; I won’t give up on you.” Next year I will be enjoying this same view from my beautiful little garden.