Tending Garden

I wrote this piece last summer, and recently came across it, reread it, and wondered why I didn’t post it at the time. I figured now, as we head into the dead of winter, is a nice time to revisit what summer can feel like. The Both And of this life.

I just finished my client work and walked to my pea patch, where I had planned to tame my nasturtiums from climbing up my neighbor’s peas. I was tired and it was hot, so I did what I went there to do. I picked the tendrils that grasped toward the neighboring peas and noticed that they were also deeply encroaching on one of my tomato plants struggling to make it despite our Juneary in Seattle. I ripped up a hunk of them to give my tomato plant some space, I didn’t really realize the nasturtiums were a vining variety when I planted them (well, I did, but I was already in my garden with the seeds and so I shrugged and said “we’ll see”). I noticed that one of my dahlia plants, my most favorite flower, is budding and that gave my heart a little thrill. Every season my dahlias open to flower I have a moment with my friend Linda, who is no longer on the earth but is in the owls and hawks and eagles I spot, the produce I pick, the meals I cook when I find myself grounded and present, because Linda mentored me so much in presence and play, and how we are interdependent with this land. 

Back at my home, cooler, I grabbed my biggest vase, a big orange chipped pitcher that I found in a free pile my younger days in Seattle, filled it with water and jammed the unearthed nasturtium plants inside. 

When I was very young, my Grandmom took my sister and I to a plant sale, and each of us were able to pick out a plant to put in her yard. I picked lamb’s ear, because it was so soft to the touch and that felt comforting. Back at her house as I planted my lamb’s ear, one small piece fell from the pot and the rest of the rooted plant. I decided to plant this leaflet, why not? And my Gma teased me that this was silly, that it wouldn’t do anything. But it did- we marveled as it became a full plant. It was in that memory that I began to believe in the magic of gardening.

There is something very comforting to my neurodivergent mind around the “let’s see what happens” mentality. Let’s follow a flow, and pay attention, and observe. And from this, we can learn. From here, not from what is presupposed to be True. 

This is the first season I’ve really been able to earnestly tend a garden. My other plots have been crammed in containers, or monitored by an intrusive rude busy body neighbor, or far enough from my home to make it more of a hassle. Now my plot is a short walk from me, and I’ve made two commitments - to organize volunteers to 1. tend a plot for the local food bank and to 2. hold it all very gently. Number 2 involves something I’ve been nurturing within myself and with my clients- how to find the middle path between the harsh inner critic / shame/ perfectionism shitstorms (that roared unchecked within me when in my younger years) and a more detached (perhaps avoidant?) approach where little gets done. Because I’m a Capricorn, I knew that some support for me would be a commitment to the pea patch, the food bank clients, and the volunteers- and that would pull me to the garden regularly, a beautiful abundant space full of life, that naturally calms my body and mind. But number 2 also commits me to myself, to undoing internalized ableism which dovetails with perfectionism and self sacrifice, and so I gently remind myself to observe, go slow, honor my limits, and practice sustainability (I do hope to be in this neighborhood for some time to come, and I’d like to keep up my two commitments throughout the seasons and from that build a sturdy wise foundation for continued growth for me, the land, and the community around it).

Sometimes I go to just dink around. Sometimes my partner and I walk through and observe all the plots. Sometimes I go and weed a neighbor’s patch who is strapped for time. Sometimes I go and harvest, pack, and deliver produce and my little farmer heart soars, and Linda is right there with me. 

I need to nurture the part of me that was told my only use is to produce, and dinking around has been one of my greatest antidotes. This year of tending garden so far is teaching me that a middle path can be found, and many beings can be nurtured within that. 

What middle path are you navigating, where shame is on one side and a desired outcome is on the other? What gets in the way? What do you notice helps with gentleness for you, and assists in bringing you back to your center, your values, and what *you* want from this life?