I’ve been thinking about planting a garden – again.
I usually try every couple of years or so. More often when I was much younger, and the kids were small.
I remember one spring trying to sift through the clay soil while my youngest slept in his car seat in the only patch of shade in our treeless backyard – my shadow. My oldest would sit in his wheelchair by the side of the house listening to the birds, while our middle son did what most young boys do in the dirt – dig holes and fill them in again.
These days, when I do decide it’s time to try gardening again, I usually start out strong. I till up a small patch of my yard and then buy some pepper and tomato plants along with some zucchini and pumpkin seeds.
Everything gets planted and is well cared for. The seeds sprout. The plants take root and grow. I water regularly and try to keep the rows free of weeds.
But about six weeks in – right when you’d expect to start seeing some produce, the sun gets hot, I feel really old, and my fervor for the garden wanes. Maybe I “forget” to water for a few days or I let the weeds go for a week.
Before I know it, I’ve got dead vegetable plants and a patch full of live weeds.
My Garden, My Life
This sounds an awful lot like my life.
I read a new book, or a friend tells me about a new podcast. I jump in with both feet and twist my life around to use the techniques and practices described by the author or podcaster so I can be more – happy, productive, confident, centered. Whatever my goal du jour happens to be.
I take care of things diligently at first. I notice I seem to be feeling better – more under control.
But then I get tired – or distracted – or too caught up in life and its many surprises.
I forget to meditate for a few days. Or I decide I don’t have time to write in my journal. Or my gratitude journal is upstairs and I’m already in bed and don’t want to climb the 13 stairs to get it.
Those new habits start to dry up. Then the old habits sneak back in and overtake my attempts to cultivate the new ones.
I really do reap what I sow. If I don’t actually plant the tomatoes and nurture them, there is no way I’ll walk past my garden and find some tomatoes just hanging out on the vines waiting for me to pick them.
And if I plant pumpkins, I can’t go out to the garden and expect to find watermelons. It’s just not going to happen. If I don’t plant it, it won’t grow and produce.
If I want peace, I need to plant it and nurture it. If I want productivity, I need to practice it daily. If I want happiness, I must stop thinking about negative things. I need to do those activities that other happy people practice – gratitude, positive self-talk, a focus on others.
What About the Weeds?
If I didn’t purposely plant the weeds, did they just spontaneously generate? Why is it that the plants I want to grow die if they’re not watered, but the weeds seem to thrive?
Believe it or not, the weeds were planted, just not by me. Something or someone else trespassed in my garden and dropped those weed seeds without my knowledge. Now, it may not have been a deliberate act, but the weeds are proof that it happened. They are weeds for a reason. They are unwanted. They grow easily. And the crop they produce is sub-par.
The same happens with the weeds in my life. Those weeds often include people who need to be plucked from my life and thrown in the figurative compost heap. They pop up at work, at church, even at family reunions.
And sometimes, the things I once thought were weeds turn out to be beneficial. I used to think milkweed was terrible. I didn’t want it anywhere around me or my garden. Now I know that if I want to see monarch butterflies, I have to tolerate the milkweed, because that’s what monarch butterfly caterpillars eat.
Then there are the times when I think something has died, only to look next season and see it sprouting. I have several relationships I thought had died, only to realize that with a little TLC and some regular attention they can revive.
Maybe I need to look at my garden in the same way. I may have failed at producing a crop of tomatoes and zucchini in the past, but there’s nothing that says I never will. I’ve done it in the past, and I will do it again – maybe even this season. Only the canned pizza sauce will tell.
When I remember trying to garden with small children. I remember feeling frustrated – that the soil was so hard to work, that my time was constantly divided between the task I wanted to complete and the needs of my young family, that there was no shade, and it was so darn hot. But I have those memories, and I wouldn’t have them if I hadn‘t soldiered through the difficulties. And my kids have those memories, too.
A garden, just like life, takes work. And patience. And dedication. But it’s all worth it.
Here’s to your own attempts at growing a thriving garden – both in the soil and in your life.
Until next week,
Susie from Stix-N-Stonez