Lessons from the Garden 2021

It was -8 degrees when I got up to check on the alpacas this morning. It was so still and so incredibly peaceful.

And although the crisp air stung my face, being out in it —before coffee, even!!— gave me my first moment of deep gratitude for the new year.

I made a full lap of the farm, taking in every ounce of the untouched snow and the quietness . . . and reflecting on the the past year.

It was a hard one, like it was for just about everyone. Pretty much on par with 2020, if not just a bit worse in some ways.

But as it always does, the garden gave more than just beautiful flowers, it gave some great lessons. So while it might not’ve been the year I was hoping for, I’m still grateful for it. And most importantly, to have come through it!

So here’s a recap of the big three lessons I got to learn. . .

We took on our biggest DIY project of all time in 2021 — a complete renovation of the farmhouse exterior.

Our charming, vintage 1901 home was built before insulation, indoor plumbing and electrical were actual ‘things’. The homesteaders before us did the plumbing and the electrical, so it was only fitting we give it proper insulation for its 120th birthday. Along with all new sheathing, siding, windows and trim.

We planned the job out, ordered materials, and organized a 3 week family work ‘party’.

We started Memorial Day weekend, 2 days after I turned 41 . . . which also happened to be right during my first major wave of garden transplanting.

Well the first planting made it in. By the time the second one was ready, we were still burning the midnight oil on the house. And literally frying ourselves in the triple degree heat as well.

But the stubborn gemini in me would not concede. A flower filled year was a non-negotiable. So I pressed on, and planted a second succession of neglected, half dried-out seedlings . . .

Well over a thousand plants all on my own, on my hands and knees, because I was too proud to ask for help. And when I returned to demolition, so did my carpal tunnel syndrome. This time in both arms and not just one.

And those transplants? Well, the few that did survive didn’t produce much. And as it turned out, the first planting was more than enough. I could’ve saved myself months of excruciating pain if I would’ve just been open to adjusting my planting plan.

The lesson — less is more — unless its extra help, than more is always better.

Once the house was mostly put back together, I had more time and energy to put into the garden. This was my fourth season growing cut flowers commercially so I had expectations that the cultivating part should naturally go a little smoother.

But it seemed everywhere I turned, easy to grow crops were looking rough. And the few that looked great were also covered in bugs.

I spent hours —if not days— asking myself ‘why is this happening’? And ‘how come I can’t get this to work?’

With every loud pop of the nail gun, zing of the saw and clack of a hammer, I grew more frustrated as the long hot days wore on.

Instead of admiring all of my hard, imperfect work . . . I focused on the weeds, the failures and the coulda-beens.

And now with the season over, I have the data that shows I actually grew more bouquets than I had in the previous years.

But I couldn’t see it at the time because the garden didn’t match up with the vision I had for it.

The lesson - growth takes just as much self-compassion as it does hard work. Instead of asking ‘why’ or ‘how come’ maybe the real question is — what if this is okay, just as it is?

The final lesson I want to share is one that turned up early and often. It’s one about acceptance & perspective.

I’d find myself in the garden and need a tool that was all the way back at the barn. As someone who doesn’t like wasting time, or energy, while doing anything, but especially manual labor in the heat of summer, I’d find myself making many roundtrips in a total huff. ‘I have to get more efficient,’ I’d think to myself.

And on the way to the beautiful, iconic barn, I’d see its crimson hues offset by our bright green grass, with bluebird skies and puff clouds . . . And then I’d remember the days I used to walk down windowless halls that reeked of burnt popcorn and microwaved fish, longing for the day I could work outside.

And here I was . . . doing just that . . . and still wanting to be doing something else?

I have to go to the barn again instantly became - I get to go walk in the fresh air and sunshine out to my beautiful barn again!

By turning the thought around and infusing a little perspective, it really changed my outlook on everything. From simple annoyances to big stressors, it really made a difference.

No better example of that was my little bottle baby, Hammie.

He was abandoned by his mother for reasons that are too long to explain here. But he basically needed round the clock care for the entire month of June. Which, by the way, is the busiest time of year in the garden. On top of the ongoing farmhouse renovations!

The exhaustion and worry was overwhelming. And the hourly bottle feedings were taking me away from important gardening tasks.

‘Why does this have to be so hard? Can’t I have something thrive this year?’ - I’d think on repeat.

Instead of spending my life editing spreadsheets like I once did, now I get to use mine to save his. Oh wow - now there’s a powerful and uplifting thought!

And besides . . . all co-workers need a little attention from time to time . . . but they definitely don’t always look as cute as this while needing it!

But it really was a simple mindset shift, turning these seemingly insignificant thoughts around, which actually gave me much needed perspective

And that went a long way in making a really difficult year, a fulfilling one!

Lesson - When you stop having to have, you get to get instead.

I can’t wait to take these good bits of 2021 and grow them out a little more this year!