The Garden's Call

My mother was a gardener. She didn't grow food, but she loved growing flowers. I never understood how she could enjoy gardening since she had a full-blown phobia of all bugs and creepy crawlies. But, despite that fear, she loved her garden. I have vivid memories of long spring mornings spent wandering greenhouses while she selected new flowers.

She passed her fear of bugs on to me, as parents sometimes do. I HATE bugs, and they make me super jumpy—some worse than others. Centipedes are the worst. We have a problem with them in our basement during the humid summer months. My poor husband ends up on full-time laundry duty from June to October. That's how bad my phobia is.

Because of that fear, I never thought gardening would be for me. My husband attempted to grow green beans and tomatoes on our balcony one year, and we would talk about how one day when we had a yard, we would grow food. I loved the idea of that. Growing our food sounded great. But I assumed that it would be his domain.

The years ticked by, and we were still in our apartment. Then, in the summer of 2019, our landlady (who we are so blessed to have) approached us with an opportunity. Some other long-term tenants in her other building would be moving away at the end of August. This building is a duplex or townhouse style. She lives in one half, and she didn't want to move strangers into the other half. The price was right, and we enthusiastically agreed.

We discussed a vegetable garden almost right away since the new place has a yard. The yard is a tiny space that a Norway Maple almost entirely takes over with a large canopy and aggressive roots. So, we started to think about a raised garden. We were busy packing, moving, and unpacking, so we tabled the plan until Spring.

February came along. I'm not too fond of February. It's that point of a New England winter where it feels like I am trapped in a tunnel and can't escape. My seasonal depression is usually at its peak, and I long for summer. I dove into planning mode. The yard needed a lot of work beyond gardening, so I began my research. We settled on container gardening for at least the first garden season- 3 and 5-gallon pots and buckets that could be moved around as needed while figuring out where things would grow the best.

It was still too early to do anything except research and plan. I could have started seeds indoors, but I didn't have the know-how yet. I started reading gardening blogs and watching gardeners and farmers on YouTube. That tiny seed of excitement that started germinating in the back of my mind months before began to bloom into a new obsession.

I am a researcher by nature. I love to plan things. Parties and vacations. I even planned a Harry Potter convention once. Me taking over the research and planning for the yard and garden was typical behavior. I expected that when it came to the actual gardening, I would defer to my Hubster. Gardening wouldn't be my thing.

How wrong I was. Poor Hubster, gardening was his original idea, and I have completely taken it on as my passion project. He helps, of course. But those plants are my babies.

Our first garden wasn't all that successful. But, I truly enjoyed the project. The enjoyment could have been a fluke. The quarantine, work-at-home, homeschooling lifestyle was thrust upon us just as we were reaching Spring. My garden obsession might have been because it offered a nice distraction and an excuse to get outside. I knew we would grow one again this year, but I still thought that maybe I would pass most of the responsibility to my husband, John.

Wrong again.

In February, I started to feel the garden's call. Seriously. I was desperate for some damp spring air and dirt on my hands. I slipped back into research mode. What should we plant this year? Did we need supplies? Should we start seeds indoors? Or should we direct sow?

I inventoried my seeds. I created planting calendars.

It was March when I got started. We started some seeds indoors for the first time this year. Most of it was a fail. But my snap peas grew beautifully. Every morning I would check on them and measure their progress and anticipate transferring them outdoors.

The next step was getting my potting mix ready. You can't use garden dirt if you are going to grow in a container. You need something with good drainage that will hold liquid. A bagged potting mix is fine, but it can be cost-prohibitive when you have a container garden the size of ours. So, we make our own.

My husband goes to the store and loads up the van with all of the "ingredients." And, then, I get to play in the dirt. It is the BEST. Forget the gloves. Forget the shovel. I just dig in with my bare hands and mix. Think about the joy you get playing in the sand or even playing with your kid's kinetic sand. Take that sensation and multiply it by ten. It is so therapeutic. Try it, if you haven't.

Tending to this garden is helping to calm my bug phobia a little bit, but I still don't want anything creepy crawly touching me or flying at me. So, I'm pretty sure that I would find digging barehanded in the garden dirt to be less than therapeutic. But, mixing my fresh potting mix with my bare hands is the best feeling. Completely zen. Dirt therapy.

I was perhaps a little too eager to start planting this year. The Spring was cool and long, and our cool weather crops struggled. Even now, in late July, our weather has been inconsistent. Cool, and rainy, with the occasional heatwave. Not ideal for our summer crops, either.

We also have some animal problems. Our tiny yard attracts a lot of wildlife. I find so much joy in our little garden, and part of that joy comes from looking out my window and watching the birds, bunnies, and squirrels frolic in the backyard. It can be frustrating when they eat our seedlings, but we embrace it as part of the experience.

The garden doesn't just give me joy; it gives me a challenge. I love trying to solve the various issues that arise and troubleshoot things. It makes it that much more satisfying when we can harvest our own food, however slight the amount may be.

I still don't understand how someone with a bug phobia could pick gardening as a hobby, but my mom did, and now, here I am. More than anything, gardening makes me feel her presence. She passed away in 2009 at the young age of 47, and I miss her every day. We were robbed of so much time together. I try to start each morning in the garden because it calls to me. Or maybe mom does. It is a place where we can still be together.