A Rookie Gardener's Reflections

 

I grew up with parents who gardened. In my early childhood years, we had a HUGE garden every single year. I remember Mom and Dad growing strawberries, sweet corn, potatoes, radishes, tomatoes, beets, carrots, and probably many other things, too.

            Mom would get the Burpee’s catalog and mark the seeds she wanted to order. Dad would pull out the old red tiller and work the soil at the beginning of the season. I would pick out and plant the marigolds at the edge of the garden, and that was about the end of my enjoyment of gardening. I didn’t love weeding. Or watering. Or harvesting. Or how hot the house grew when Mom started canning. Or the smell of pickled beets.

            As an adult, I’ve never had a desire to have a garden until very recently. Sure, the high prices of food have pushed me to want to supplement whatever I can for our little household. But more significantly, as I’ve gotten older, I think I’ve developed an appreciation for accomplishing something like gardening. It became more than just growing food. It became an adventure I wanted to see if I could achieve.

            The year of the pandemic, I received two free tomato plants from an avid gardener in our church. I did a porch pickup from his house, and Ryan bought me giant pots and pretty red cages for my patio garden. I planted and tended my little plant duet, and things went pretty well until we moved to WillowBridge and somewhere in the being gone and moving and such…they didn’t fare well. I got a few tomatoes, but it was mostly a failure of an experience. The following year, I didn’t even try. Last year I determined I would conquer tomato growing once and for all. I failed miserably. Our tomatoes grew about as beautifully as our yard. Sickly looking little things. Barely a tomato to be picked.

            Perhaps those two adventures were on Ryan’s mind when I announced that I was going to try my hand at gardening this year, but he kindly helped me work the soil in the raised bed behind the garage and wished me well with my planning and planting.

            My friend Julie came over with her expertise and gardening book and helped me plot the order of the plants and gave me some ideas of how to have success in growing plants. We bought a compost pail and started composting kitchen scraps and such. It was a fine rookie effort, I must say.

            I planted the garden alone, on a day Ryan was gone with other commitments, and as I planted, I prayed. I asked God to teach me things about Himself and about myself as I worked on this new adventure. I Googled and Pinterested and read labels and tried to make sure everything had a good little home in my tiny (by many standards) garden bed.

            Then I got to work. I was better at the watering than the weeding, which didn’t shock me at all. I still don’t like weeding. (At first I wasn’t sure what was a weed and what was a plant, and I didn’t want to pull the wrong thing. Pretty sure I had a few casualties along the way.)

            I watched over my little plants, watered them, coaxed them, weeded with fear and trembling (and not nearly often enough, I know), added compost, and prayed that the efforts will not be in vain.

            I pulled Ryan into the garden to celebrate every sprout and bloom. (And he willingly rejoiced with me. He also willingly watered on days when my schedule was full or it was gross outside.)

            I began to see peas and beans and squash and tomatoes forming, and Ryan took a picture of my very first harvest item. We did more Googling and Pinteresting to learn when something was ready to be picked. I did even more Googling and Pinteresting to learn the best dishes to make with the collection of harvest items in my basket.

            The tomato plants have grown with mighty abundance, and one lesson I learned is that I should plant the peppers much farther away. They sort of became buried beneath the tomatoes and didn’t thrive.

            We’ve enjoyed salads with lettuce and tomatoes from our own space. We’ve had many dishes with summer squash, onions, and basil from our garden. We’ve eaten green beans and BLTs.

            There is something quite satisfying about walking outside with my trusty orange basket and walking back inside with food for dinner. I’ve learned that God’s garden creations are beautiful in every way. Colorful and full and abundant. I’ve learned that I can grow things, and that’s exciting to me. This is a new skill I wasn’t sure I had in me.

            Next year I will probably switch up the amount of some items and the placement of others. I might do away with a few things and bring in others. And in truth, next year, I’ll still be a bit of a rookie. But if I stick with it, in a few years, I’ll know what works – and where – and I’ll be better at knowing the best planting times, the difference between weeds and plants, and how to maximize my cooking ideas to use what we have.

            This has been a huge confidence booster for me. I’m excited to learn and grow more and be able to figure out how to preserve even more of what we’re growing. (I’m not ready to take on canning yet, but maybe someday. Even if I do, beets are not happening.)

            This project has been one of my favorites of the summer. I’m an unexpected gardener who found much joy in a small, simple patch of ground and some little plants that grew. I’m not an expert. But I’m learning, and that makes my heart so happy.