Simply gorgeous.
If you are determined enough, you will find a way.
I've always been drawn to life. Plant life. Animal life. Human life. I spent a lot of my childhood digging in the dirt, pulling the bermuda grass that surrounded my great-grandmother’s flowers — a chore I loathed then, but remember fondly now.
The cultivator bug bit me hard after I lost my first child. Without recognizing what I was doing, as an act of self preservation, I filled my apartment with plants. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by green, comforted by the presence of life — when I had so recently lost one.
A few years later I had a baby, and another baby, and our little family lived in a tiny bungalow built in 1937. It was the first place we lived that had real yard space and I relished every square inch. My love of gardening started with a trip to the farmers market on X St. under the I/80 bridge; table after table of fresh fruits and vegetables, herbs and flowers, honey someone harvested from their own hive. A bouquet of purple basil caught my eye, the color rich and the smell delightful; I purchased a huge bunch and took it home.
I was smitten.
That was 1997. That was a long time ago. Shit, am I like 103 years old?
Since the dawn of time (1997) I've grown a lot of food in a lot of places. I've overcome a lot of really crappy soil and horrid weather conditions. I've failed (a lot). And I have succeeded — at least marginally more than I have failed.
The deeper I dig my hands into the soil, the more connected I am with Earth, with life. (Also, the more panicked I am about the dirt under my nails.)
Along the way, I have learned a lot.
1. If you are determined enough, you will find a way.
By the time our family had expanded to include three small people, we were living in our third house. I had big dreams. The most suitable place in the yard for growing anything but weeds was a spot was covered by a slab of concrete — broken in places and completely useless.
I decided that I would make a garden there. Because I like a challenge (read: I am stubborn as a mule). People (my ex-husband) told me it was impossible, that there was no way I could remove the concrete, that there was no way I could haul it off if I manage to remove it, and that even if I hauled it off, there was no way to grow food in the newly-revealed soil.
Piece by piece, I broke that concrete with a sledgehammer. Piece by piece, I placed it in our trash can, spreading it out over several weeks so that the can wasn't too heavy to move to the curb. And when all of that damned concrete was done away with, I planted cucumbers, squash, and a huge teepee of birdhouse gourds. That teepee earned me a front-page photograph at Burpee.com. And earned my spouse a big ol’ slice of shut up.
If you want to do something bad enough, you will try and try and try until you do. Even if you have to drop some concrete on your toe in the process.
2. Things are more satisfying when you have to work for them.
Sorry. Fast-food culture be damned.
A tomato from the vine that you watered and weeded and fed and loved is infinitely better than one you purchase. Even a vine-ripened farmers market tom can’t hold up to the one you grew yourself.
So it is with life. All things worth having are worth fighting for. (Pretty sure. But also if you want to just give me, like, $50K, that's fine too.)
3. Things left neglected will not grow.
You can't walk away from your garden and expect to come back to find it flourishing. If you don't water it, if you don't feed it, it’s going to croak. It will wilt in the heat of the summer sun; it will wither from drought.
Dead.
Humans don't require fertilizer (that’s actually pretty gross), relationships don't need water, and you will find that either of those things neglected will not thrive. You get out what you put in. Don’t put in shit. (Well, put it in the garden, but you know what I mean.)
4. Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty. (SHUDDER.)
When I was a child I loved to make mud pies (a blend of dirt and water with a mulberry on top). My summer days were covered in mud. Carefully-managed mud.
A unique feature of my personality as a child (read: Hi, I will eventually be diagnosed with OCD) was that I hated dirt. I wanted to create those pies, but I didn't want to get my hands dirty in the process. So I wore rubber gloves. Obviously.
Even as an adult, it took me a long time to dig my fingers into the soil without SHEER PANIC. But you simply can’t garden without some dirt under your nails. I know. Horrifying.
But sometimes you have to strip off the gloves and get to work — even if the job is painful. Even if dirt under your nails makes you want to curl into the fetal position and sob.
5. Enthusiasm is contagious.
The glow of the sun-kissed skin. The pride of creating. The joy of production. Folks can’t help but be inspired.
In the Internet age, it’s a lot easier to share your joy with the world — to the point of “OMG PLEASE STOP I DO NOT WANT TO SEE YOUR VOMITOUS-LOOKING DINNER.”
But when it comes to gardening, people love to see your garden grow. I mean, you’re never going to get 300 likes on a baby pumpkin... But to be fair, no baby pumpkin is as cute as a baby human.
6. You’re going to have to find a way to deal with pests.
Vine-borers will annihilate your squash. You’re going to have to deal with them. Sometimes, this means checking every single plant. If you have tomato worms, you’re going to have to pick them off one by one before they eat your tomatoes and ruin your life.
People are like pests sometimes. You’re going to have to deal with them too. No, you can’t throw your self-righteous vegan/paleo/foodie/hippie friend in the green compost can (well, it’s not advised).
But you can move them gently out of your way and get back to work.
7. Sometimes shit is gonna get a little weird.
