My garden & its lessons
Reaping what I've sown
“When you remembered that it had all emerged from the hands and spirit of this one man, without technical aids, you saw that men could be as efficient as God in other things beside destruction.” The Man Who Planted Trees, Jean Giono
I started a garden in the throes of moving into a new space. Without much thought, I picked a shaggy patch of grass and began digging into the soil. My dad planted a skewed line of raspberry canes, and I capriciously planted an array of tomatoes, peas, radishes, mustard, mizuna, squashes, celery, beans as well as a collection of flowers, like borage, cosmos and mallow.
So far, I’ve harvested half a dozen wonky breakfast radishes, 10 deliciously sweet pea pods, bunches of salad and a sorry handful of half eaten strawberries. But the biggest harvest, was the lessons.
Here’s what I learnt:
Every morning, you’re going to go outside in your pyjamas and see the difference from day to night. The tiny squash being birthed from the base of a squash flower will look bigger; curly bean babies will have elongated further, pea pods will swell, and flower buttons will blossom rapidly from their tight buds. It will remind you how rebirth and growth is happening in all corners of life, including in yourself, every single day.
Most people will tell you that you shouldn’t plant this, or that the soil isn’t good for that. Sometimes they will be right, but mistakes and observations are your biggest teachers. There are hundreds of resources out there for you to learn from, and they are extremely useful. But when you’re starting out, just planting and passively watching your plants is your best bet to understand what works and what doesn’t in your garden.
When you’re sad or feeling drained, walking barefoot on the grass and digging through soil with bare hands is a promised fix.
You will begin appreciating rainy days.
Like your paternal grandmother, you will incessantly make posies of flowers, and possibly pinching a rose or two from a neighbours abundant bush.
You will learn that caring for things brings you immense amounts of joy, and that instead of feeling anger or frustration at a struggling plant, you will begin to feel empathy. This will teach you patience with yourself and the days when you feel like you’re not progressing with your goals.
Slugs will consume your thoughts.
People will say that you are living your ‘grandma era’. Little do they know that you’ve been like this since you were a child.
You will feel a deep sense of reverence for the beauty of mother nature, and your heart will hurt when you think about it not existing one day.
You will come to terms with the fact that you feel the most authentic and happy when you’re in solitude and in nature. You will stop fighting with your guilt of what you think you should be like, and instead, feel a deep sense of acceptance for the person that you are.
