Gardening, our personal metaphor for life.

I was wacking away at my garden the other day, wondering why humans are so addicted to the pastime. I remember when I put in my first massive perennial garden. It was gorgeous the first year. It was gorgeous the second year. The third year, it needed to be divided and reorganized---requiring more work than putting it in to begin with.

My flower garden in this house consists of a long hedge of lavender (flowers twice a year, has pretty gray/green foliage, and you can chop the heck out of it almost any time) and spring bulbs. I have window boxes on the cat facility that I dote over. That's it! A small amount of effort for an effect that gives me great joy.

Then there is the vegetable garden. Wowee zowie, what a mess.

First of all, however, let me sing my ode to Rhubarb, nature's freebie. You can neglect the hell out of this plant, and it will give and give and give. Some day, I long to be as generous as rhubarb. Bless this plant, it will provide enough for you and all your friends. All of my plants came from Mark's dad.



I have had a veggie garden ever since I've been a part-landowner. The first year we had the Station Road house, we put in a great little garden, but I really don't recall what we ate out of it. The garden here at this house in Spencer has never been that productive, primary due to the devastation of deer and weeds (i.e too many working/business hours, not enough home/garden hours). I do recall a lovely Saturday morning when we shelled peas from his garden--just enough for one dinner, and for snacking as we shelled.

Nonetheless, while I don't remember anything I ate out of the first Station Road garden (although I know it produced), I specifically remember eating one thing out of the current garden The Year The Husband Left, and that was kale. I think the kale plants, which churned out leaves for me even as the snow fell, kept me alive that year. Not so much because the plants gave me nourishment, but because they kept on giving even though they were entirely neglected out there.

The first year sans husband, I was determined to keep the garden going, but that fell flat pretty quickly, since I was managing the entire place with a push mower. The second year I was going pretty well until I accidentally slaughtered a family of baby bunnies trying to keep up with the grass inside the fenced area.

This year NYS brought us an early spring, so the weeds really got going. However, I am out of my desperation mode now and into a Victory Garden (i.e. Austerity Budget) view on life. I'll grow kale next to burdock if I have to.



I carved out one spot at a time in the raised bed, to get the kale in. Then I slowly got rid of all the rest of the weeds to plant seeds. In the gap between each of the frames I planted sunflowers.

The grass is an ever-present enemy, but now I have a working John Deere tractor in addition to the push mower.



There once was a time when, if the garden hadn't been "perfect," I would have felt it was a failure. But after picking kale out of the snow--the only plant that lived, but LIVE IT DID!--I'll gladly carve bits of success out of the the Great Wild Lands. Maybe one day I'll have a big beautiful garden, but right now I'll be happy with a little bit of kale and whatever else makes it.

We all have reasons why we garden. Our gardens--or lack of one due to our dedication to other things--are ourselves.