Vegetable Gardening and Me (#1)

My hope is to expand this part of my blog, and produce a weekly update of my progress with growing vegetables. I’ll provide more practical information as time goes by, and plenty of pictures. Maybe even a video or two. I am not an expert, but I do a lot of research and experimenting, and have had some success, despite my failures. So, please join me for future gardening adventures! 

Why do I even bother?

Vegetable Gardening is like a relationship. When it works out, you sing its praises, and plan to build more. But when it fails, you curse it, regret the day you ever decided to start, and promise never do it again. That is until the cold winds of winter fade, and the sun of early spring shines brighter, rises higher, and remains longer with each passing day. The sting of past failures fade along with those biting frosts. And you try again, swearing to do better this time.

And like a good relationship, a good vegetable garden is built on what you put into it, and what the earth, or other person, gives back. You have control over the former, but not the latter—though you do get some say in where and with whom you start. However, in my experience, with enough effort, planning, and flexibility, you can usually end up with enough of a harvest to feel satisfied. It may not be what you planned or dreamed of, but the fruit and memories that are produced, will have been worth it. 

 

It starts with enough sun (at the very least, 6 full hours of direct sunlight, 8 is better, 10 is best), or in the case of relationships, two people who are good and honest. A supply of water is next, which can be added as needed in most cases, at minimal cost. But even then, some plants can survive in dryer conditions, and there are plenty of ways to bring extra water to the garden (rain catching systems, wells, a good hose). So even a seemingly barren relationship has hope. Then there is the soil. Here is where, with time, energy, and resources, even the most desolate land can be turned into an oasis of life; the most uneven friendship can evolve into a healthy one. For vegetable gardens, it may mean adding fertilizer, creating better soil, or waiting for weather conditions to improve. For relationships, it means time and patience. And sometimes outside intervention.

But all the will and care in the world won’t make something grow, if the earth, the other party, is unwilling to commit themselves to it. A sudden cold snap, flash flooding, drought, little sunshine, pests, and animals can all conspire to bring down the best of plans and intentions. Indifference, disinterest, emotional baggage, and overwhelming negativity will tear apart any relationship. Under such conditions, pushing through may result in recovering some of the initial seedlings, or feelings, or it may end with total loss. Then you are left wondering why you bothered in the first place. The pain was just not worth it!

 

However, you soon remember the first time you turned over fresh, composted soil, saw worms wiggling their way through the loose material, and smelled the aroma of good, living earth. The sight of tiny, bright green leaves pushing through grains of soil, yearning for light. The sound of bees buzzing around the flowering plants, and smell of certain stems on your finger tips as you prune the plants. And finally, the juiciness of plucked tomatoes, the crispiness of cucumbers twisted off vines, and the sweetness of snapped peas plucked from the trellis. They remind you of the garden’s ultimate rewards. Just as the joy and happiness of laughing with a friend, burying your sorrows in their outstretched arms, and knowing that someone somewhere is fondly thinking of you as you are of them, pushes you past the sorrow of a lost friendship. The excitement alone can be intoxicating: the promise of what could happen can get the heart and mind yearning for better days.

Finally, failed gardens, like failed relationships, can provide insight on how to do better next time, if you are willing to analyze it, and accept the outcome.

 

Enter my 2019 gardening misadventure. I created five 18-foot long, 3-foot wide rows for a total of 270 square feet of gardening space. Then I started 64 individual seedlings in containers under grow lights inside the house. After a month, half were planted outside. Within a single night, ravenous rabbits consumed all of them. I quickly abandoned four of those five plots, and hastily constructed a chicken wire fence around the last one. And there I planted what was left of the seedlings. My harvest was meager, and didn’t reflect the planning, resources, and effort I had invested in early spring. I had not considered rabbits as a pest, because I never had a problem with them, and building fencing for all that garden, would have, at the time, been prohibitive. But pushing through, despite the setback, resulted in enough tomatoes to make nearly a dozen sauces during the winter. In addition, over a dozen pint jars worth of pickled cucumbers (my first time preserving this vegetable) managed to survive. Also, I ended up with a half-dozen eggplants, at least three large bowl fulls of peppers, and a handful of winter and spaghetti squashes.

Finally, with the first frost of fall, I accumulated enough experience and knowledge to do better next time.

Now, my 2020 gardening adventure may have suffered a bit from the quarantine: seeds have been hard to find, and the delivery of supplies has been pushed back by weeks. However, my seedlings are currently thriving, and my garden plots are beginning to shape up. Like a new relationship on the heels of a broken one, I am cautious, but optimistic, enjoying the thrill of the initial stages. 

 

So here we go…