Lessons from the garden

Part of my annual garden plan involves looking back at previous years - sussing out what worked & what didn’t. The majority of my notes are technical — don’t put this next to that and more water here, less water there.

But when I take a moment to digest it all, there are usually some bigger themes that emerge.

I usually scribble them down in a note book that never sees the light of day again. So instead, I thought I would catalog a couple stand out lessons, since most of them apply to life in general - whether or not you garden.

The first lesson involves a little lack of prior planning!

My favorite plant from back in 2019 was Artemesia annua, commonly known as Sweet Annie.

It gets big & bushy so it makes a good bouquet filler and is the backbone of dried wreaths and arrangements.

It has the sweetest, most subtle, invigorating fragrance.

I even distilled it to make a face & body mist. It’s versatility made it a standout - and topped my list for this the 2020 garden.

Despite how much I loved Sweet Annie, I didn’t realize that I was out of seed so I didn’t think to order order any for the 2020 garden. And I didn’t realize until it was too late - it is a real slow grower so it needs to be started impossibly early.

For a good long minute I was really irritated with myself. How could I have forgotten to order seeds for the most high performing, beautiful, productive plant of all time!?

On the other hand, I also had dozens of new varieties that I was trying out in 2020, so I made a definitive decision to just.let.it.go.

Why beat myself up about it? That won’t change anything and it won’t make me feel any better. Instead, I made a big, bold faced note on my List of Things to Do Next Year . . . and then I moved on.

The lesson - letting things go is so much easier than hanging onto bad feelings.

The next lesson came from ranunculus, my all time favorite spring flower. Because of a hiccup with my seed broker, my ranunculus corms arrived 2 weeks late at the end of February. That was disappointing — and so was the icy cold March that followed which made it impossible for me to till. Since ranunculus are a spring flower and usually fade as soon as the heat sets in, I thought they might not even get planted.

I got a small break in the weather, and in my hurry to get them into the ground, I did not plant them into landscape fabric like I usually do. They went into bare soil which forced me to spend a significant amount of time weeding.

I always thought I hated weeding, but oddly, it ultimately became my morning meditation - providing a good warm up & stretch, along with a sense of productivity.

One morning while I was weeding, I noticed a different looking seedling. As I pulled it from the earth, a familiar scent caught the morning air. SWEET ANNIE!

And it wasn’t just a couple of seedlings either!

Sweet Annie was infiltrating the entire end of the ranunculus row, perfectly down wind of where it was planted in 2019! In the bare soil that would’ve otherwise been covered!

I left several clumps to grow out right where they were!

The lesson - acceptance makes room for all the things you didn’t know you needed, and perhaps even a few of the things you also wanted.

Another stand-out lesson came compliments of a few cut corners.

Once the ranunculus were finally in the ground, I installed a small hoop structure over the row to protect them from the elements. I also hoped the plastic would provide extra warmth to encourage them to bloom earlier — perhaps getting them back on schedule.

In my haste to get it done, I failed to account for the additional space needed to properly stake & tie down the ends. And I didn’t realize this until after the rows were completely planted and the hoops were partially installed.

Instead of stopping, reassessing and staking them properly, I cobbled together a different staking method - one that was completely untested. It worked—until the first breezy day. And then it failed completely on a really windy day.

And seeing how spring is littered with windy days and nights, it became an ongoing battle of fixing, securing, adjusting, and re-adjusting.

And lots of swearing.

After all, I was trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. By the third major wind storm, I finally undid it and staked it like I should’ve in the first place.

The lesson - if you don’t have time to do it right, you’ll have to find the time to do it over.

The last lesson came from the pandemic, which is no surprise.

The shutdown began in spring, which is typically my biggest seed sowing time of year. Like many, I was grappling with fear. I was struggling with the unknown. I was getting lost in the ever-evolving chaos.

As businesses shuttered and record numbers filed for unemployment, it felt like the sun was setting on my 3rd flower season before it even started. After all, I wasn’t sure who would be buying flowers during a pandemic. . .

So I converted two beds to veggie production - my own Victory Garden.

And I left another two rows completely open & bare. I was at less than half the previous year’s production, which meant less work seeding and planting.

And I needed that extra time just to wade through the stream of emotions that would follow.

Fortunately spring arrived in earnest along with all of the good intentions that I did manage to grow. I shared pictures of every cutting, no matter how meager.

Folks were as hungry as ever - now that they were literally stuck in their homes all day. They craved the beauty and the everyday normalcy that flowers have in spades.

With the delayed opening of the farmer’s market and other businesses offering contactless delivery, I thought maybe I could as well, so I added weekly flower deliveries to the plan. . .

And before I really knew it, my flower subscriptions were taking off. The spring share offering went lightening fast, and deliveries took a few hours each week!

Most weeks I had to cut every single stem to keep up with the subscriptions, along with the one-off bouquets I also sporadically offered.

By the time the farmer’s market opened, I was squeezing the garden dry. I averaged an every-other-week attendance because I was effectively selling out without even going to market.

Although I didn’t like to miss the market, it sure was nice to have very little waste and to enjoy a few Saturday mornings at home with Mike and the dogs.

The lesson - make adjustments, but mostly, just keep going.

So while I’m ordering seeds, crop planning and preparing for all the technical components of growing here in 2021, I’m also reaching back to keep these lessons at the forefront.

And I have a very good feeling about this year!