Lessons In Gardening

How peculiar. I just found this post, still in draft form, from back in August of 2010; apparently I never published it. I guess I really was feeling overwhelmed back then… well, at any rate, I’m giving this post its own page now, to avoid confusion. So here goes:

It’s almost September already? It was only April a moment ago, what the heck happened here. . . ?

My garden is in full riot, blooming and producing as only late-August gardens do, because of the heavy August rainstorms. And of course, this happens exactly when I do not have the time to weed and prune properly . . . every single year. You’d think, by now, I’d remember this stage, and have time planned out ahead, blocked out in big letters on the calender: GARDENING WEEK. DO NOT TAKE OUT OF TOWN TRIPS. DO NOT BEGIN HUGE WRITING PROJECTS.

Yeah. Well, it’s a nice idea, isn’t it? And at least the goldfinches are enjoying my garden: the peppermint-stick zinnias going wild and spearmint making a fierce attempt to take over the clay-dry hillside (go, mint! says I) . . . the six and a half foot tall fennel, recently chewed up by the monarch caterpillars, now bursting out into new sprays of fresh green umbels (apparently it didn’t get the memo that it’s fall, not spring) . . . the bright yellow canna lilies, blooming weeks later than their brethren closer to the house . . . and of course the tiny red flowers of the trumpet-vine that I allow to run wild this time of year, partially because it’s so pretty and partially because it attracts hummingbirds.

All of which (and more) is packed into a roughly ten by ten foot area, on a hillside of dry, difficult to till, erosion-prone, root-laden, rock-littered, clay-based soil. I gave up on the zinnias two months ago: they weren’t growing at all, and I figured the hard soil had defeated them. I put in the spearmint thinking it might drive off the moles that were undercutting half the garden at the time. (Seems to have worked, by the way.) All through June and July, the plants sat tight with stubborn, short, non-growing stubbiness. And oh, yes, I watered: I have small, rock-filled pots driven into the ground all over the place, to allow hose and rain water to get down to the roots, rather than running off the surface. I fertilized. I hovered over that garden every morning and evening, anxiously checking for bugs, for signs of disease, for anything I could do to make it a happy, productive garden. Nothing happened.

Then I had those out of town trips. And those Huge Projects to deal with. People visiting. Deadlines. And it rained–a LOT. I looked out the window this morning and discovered a lush, thriving flower garden, filled with ecstatic goldfinches, morning doves, hummingbirds, and dragonflies; wasps, bumblebees, and lizards. All in that tiny little space. All after being neglected because I was too busy to deal with it.

Which is all in service of saying: life tends to take care of itself, if you just let it alone for a bit. I might have had a better garden, produce-wise, by paying more attention to it; but I chose to get important projects done instead, and now I have a garden that is a bird paradise instead. That’s good enough for me. Next year, I’ll work harder on producing tomatoes and green beans instead of marigolds and zinnias. This year, I’ll sit back and enjoy what is, and get my work done alongside the hummingbirds and dragonflies.