1. Starting the day with productivity instead of a snooze is a recipe for success. I’ve been getting up early before work, pouring a cup of tea, turning on some easy wake up tunes, and putting on my gardening gloves. With the heatwave (it’s called summer) and the humidity (my welcome back to the South) it’s the only time I’m willing to weed and work out there. Regardless it sets the tone for my day. I feel happier and kinder when I start the day surrounded by the beautiful things we’ve worked so hard to grow. To date we’ve eaten spinach, peas, arugula, two tomatoes (the squirrels ate two beautiful ones too), a beet and there’s a zucchini in my refrigerator that I’m about to cook up.
2. I am a very small part of a very big world. Even in my 15 x 15 little garden plot I don’t have a very firm grasp of what occurs nor a lot of control. If I did the spinach, peas and potatoes wouldn’t have disappeared. Our pea vines have yellowed, wilting from the heat. Our spinach supposedly drowned. Our potatoes have slowly vanished from nematodes. Constantly in life I am reminded that most of the time I am seeing only a very small picture of the world. I have to work hard to understand my garden and I have to work hard to understand why so many tough things are happening in the world right now. I don’t think I’ll ever figure out either.
3. I think a lot about my grandmother when I’m out in the garden. I am told that she spent a lot of time in her yard working on her plants. I’m sure she never grew vegetables because she was a terrible cook but I imagine if we knew each other now we would enjoy talking about it. I started wearing garden gloves recently to keep dirt out from under my fingernails. My dad told me that my grandmother drank gelatin to strengthen her nails. It’s such a small thing but I think of her when I wear my gloves. I never met her. I’ve heard a lot of things about her, positive and negative, but I would have really liked to know her. Gardening is one of those things that just makes me feel more connected.
4. It’s a process. The peas withered from the heat but I can try again in the fall or earlier next spring. Next time we plant potatoes we’ll know to take action earlier. We have learned and we can try again. There’s no one and done.