I'm Going to Build a Garden

“I think I’m going to build a garden.”

My husband and I were sitting on the couch drinking coffee, just each sort of doing our own thing as couples do in the morning. Usually we’re scrolling on our phones, but for once I was staring out the window, watching the snow and listening to an album (Steely Dan’s The Royal Scam, but it felt a bit too on the nose after “The Fez” and I was debating putting on something else).

I said into the silence, “I think I’m going to build a garden.” I hesitated. “Is it build or plant? Grow is for after it’s planted.”

“Build, plant ,grow, I think,” he said.  “And yeah, that seems about right.”

I asked him what he meant, and he pointed out that I only tried to grow things when I was feeling a sort of existential dread about the universe but especially the capacity humans have for cruelty.

Actually, what he said was “You always try to grow something when the world is going to shit. Which is silly, because we live two blocks from the Farmer’s Market. And they’re better at it than you are.” But I like my version better.

Either way, he’s right. He even gave me a pretty dead-on timeline:

In 2001 when we lived in Georgia I planted tomatoes, okra, and a bunch of squash and maybe even corn. I pretty much didn’t eat anything out of it, because I definitely forgot to water it and weed it. We were on Active Duty and drank every weekend. As one does.

In 2019 I planted squash, tomatoes, and peppers in containers around the deck. I spent the entire summer fighting fuzzy mold on one of the squash plants and trying to keep the squirrels out of my tomatoes. The jalapeno pepper plant thrived, though, but when I brought it inside to try and overwinter it died. Sadness.

In 2020 I put out the money to buy raised beds. I put them together and filled them and planted a multitude of heirloom beans, okra, carrots, turnips and the lot. There were a ridiculous number of radishes, and the okra were beautiful and thriving. And then one night a deer came through and ate every last inch of everything, even pulling the turnips up and taking a few bites of those. A couple were missed, and I got the world’s smallest serving of roasted turnips.

And now, it seems important to try again. Because when the world is falling apart, I feel it’s important to build something, to nurture something through all of the trials and turbulations that exist. It feels nice to be a shepherd, to guide someone or something to success, even if it’s just a pepper plant.

Also, I really, really love homemade salsa. But there is a good chance it will come from produce bought at the famer’s market. Still, I’m going to build/plant/grow the hell out of some tomatoes just because I hate not trying.

So, not matter what it is, find your joy. And embrace it with enthusiasm to help chase away the dark.

Be well, friends!