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In 2020, my partner and I joined the ranks of enthusiastic novice gardeners. We purchased a modest two-foot by eight-foot raised garden bed and placed it on our deck just outside the back door. As first-time gardeners seeking to grow our own food, we quickly learned that “staying home during a global pandemic sparks creativity.”
Our initial foray into gardening was a harsh lesson in reality. We started our seeds indoors, and when they needed to be transferred into larger trays, we placed them on the garage floor beneath some flimsy grow lights we found on Amazon. The following morning, we rushed to check on our little seedlings, only to be met with a devastating sight: every single one had been devoured. We had planted over 100 seedlings, but a family of crafty voles had found their way into our garage, leaving no evidence behind.
Despite the setbacks, our first season turned out to be moderately successful; we enjoyed homegrown romaine lettuce and zucchini that summer. However, just as our tomato plants began to flower, the first frost arrived. With plans for a more ambitious 2021 season, we decided to dive into the world of cut flowers. We meticulously designed plans for three new raised beds full of Colorado-friendly blooms and created spreadsheets that outlined everything from succession planting to perennial zones.
Yet, as I delved deeper into the intricate details of planting and nurturing living organisms, I felt overwhelmed by the endless specifics required for gardening. One key takeaway was the significance of soil health. I hadn’t realized before that the quality of soil directly impacts a plant’s ability to thrive. Did you know that even regular houseplants need re-potting each year? This season, I followed expert advice and replaced 25% of the soil in my potted plants with fresh compost, which resulted in remarkable growth.
In addition to soil, I learned that plants require tailored fertilization based on their unique pH needs. I discovered that my initial planting plan needed a complete overhaul since I had unknowingly grouped flowers with vastly different soil and nutrient requirements. Moreover, each plant had specific spatial needs, requiring careful consideration of both horizontal and vertical space for optimal growth.
Watering was another challenge. I had to trim some of my original flower plans because we lacked the space to meet their varying watering needs. Some flowers thrive on daily watering, while others prefer a gentle mist, and some can perish dramatically if their leaves get wet.
This process of gardening prompted a much-needed reflection on my own self-care. I found myself frustrated by the amount of effort required for something as small as a single flower. In that moment, I questioned what the alternative was: to neglect them entirely and leave them to wither away. That realization hit hard; deep down, I craved a flourishing flower garden that required minimal attention—clearly an unrealistic expectation.
Gardening offered valuable insights into personal growth and self-nurturing. It reminded me of my experiences in the corporate world, where creative professionals were often expected to produce outstanding work in sterile environments. I recalled a time when nurses shared their struggles working under supervisors who treated them poorly, yet they made critical decisions affecting patient lives.
Growing plants presents its own set of challenges. Gardeners must be vigilant and responsive to a myriad of needs because the consequences of neglect are immediate and severe. A wilting plant signals a need for intervention, while people often overlook their own well-being, expecting everything to flourish without effort.
Reflecting on my father’s experiences in the late ’90s, I recognized the neglect he faced in his demanding job, working long hours without adequate resources or support. If gardeners treated their crops with such disregard, they wouldn’t thrive. This led me to wonder how often we allow ourselves to be overworked or undervalued, treating ourselves as expendable.
As the 2021 growing season comes to a close in the mountains, I appreciate the underappreciated art of gardening. I’ve gained insight into the science, strategy, and intuition that go into cultivating plants. I’ve also realized my tendency to expect things in my life to prosper without fully engaging with them. Perhaps this is a defensive mechanism or simply laziness, but I suspect it stems from a failure to grasp the interconnectedness of all things.
The health of one plant can affect the surrounding ecosystem. Similarly, our actions and attitudes impact those around us. When a group of workers is undervalued and overworked, their collective well-being suffers. Imagine if we treated ourselves and others with the same care we extend to our gardens. Perhaps if we acted as if we truly belong to one another, we could all flourish.