Relatable. Allegedly suited-to-our-coastal-space sea buckthorn failed to thrive, while the olive keeps pushing upwards. Slowly. Wildflower seeds sown with too much hope made no mark - until mysteriously turning up 3 years later as cheeky small gatherings. Compost, organic no-dig soils, liquid seaweed, leaf mulch, have been out friends. We relax more lately. Absolutely nothing is under our control. We're in partnership with great mysteries.
My husband's goal for our next home is to create a garden that will occasionally gift us with a beautiful salad or a pasta topping, have flowers I can sit amongst to write, and tons of dandelions for me to enjoy from our bedroom window. It's funny how it sounds small, but it's so big. It's so big, yet it's really small. One moment at a time. Patience. Sitting with failure and enjoying even the little things—it not dying, even if it didn't really blossom this season.
I appreciate hearing your journey. I felt like I was standing behind you as your learned, which is lovely, as I hope to sit alongside someone as they do similar things soon enough.
Best gardening I ever did was to sprinkle a packet of native wildflower seeds one rainy winter day. I did this when I first bought my house and cleared a sunny, weedy patch where the previous owners stored garbage bins. Then I did basically nothing there except pull the easily identifiable weeds. The reward of myriad wild bee and butterfly and dragonfly visitors in the years to follow, even in the heart of urbanity -- from tiny shiny green-blue bees to huge fuzzy black-and-orange bumblebees to sparkly giant red-orange dragonflies -- has far outweighed the few dollars I spent. I’d spend thousands for that magic.
Here’s a great source for wildflowers native to SF. I share this is the spirit of someone who used to live in the Bay Area and is feeling jealous of your climate. :) Plus, it’s a gorgeous trip out to her nursery in the North Bay if you’re up for it, but she does mail orders as well.
Thanks for your lovely essay. I had a garden for a few years, but fell prey to perfectionism. I had raised beds and a pegola built, and put in various plants. Some lived, some died. By year three or four I found if hard to relax in the courtyard garden. All I could see were weeding & dead-heading that needed doing. I paid a gardener but felt guilty for not caring for my plants myself. Then we sold that house, for many good reasons, in the autumn (fall). I developed a system than meant I kept the garden super maintained in just 2 hours per week (because I had to throughout the sale period, and felt obligated to continue until settlement). It was a charming garden, if I say so myself, and I regret that I didn’t get the hang of it earlier so that I could have enjoyed it more while I had it. But better to make a garden and leave a garden than not.
Love this. There are so many metaphors for life in the garden. I always find working in the garden is a bit like our own internal growth and healing. Often 3 steps forwards, 2 steps back. The change is slow and incremental and sometimes hard to see. We have to keep weeding the same patches over and over. Sometimes we neglect it and things unravel. But within that, surprising moments of growth and beauty emerge and then we look at an old photo and see how far we have come 😃
Each year I pick a new area of my yard to plant it. I tend to favor native perennials, thinking I’d only have to plant an area once and then be done. But like your friend, I’ve found that despite researching soil and sun preferences, about a third to half of my plants don’t make it to the next season. Sometimes the “weak” ones surprise me and come back better the next year. Sometimes plants that were thriving the first season never get to that level of growth again. As you say, it’s a practice in letting go of perfectionist expectations. I’m hooked, every winter I day dream and put just a small fraction of those plans in progress each spring, but going on 7 years of gardening like this. I’m starting to see transformation.
I have a brown thumb for all of the obvious reasons - mostly impatience and the plants being a reflection of my own lack of self-care at any given time - but I am steadily improving in my ability to keep houseplants (and my self) alive.
I love the houseplants who tell me what they need before giving up entirely - the kind that wilt when dehydrated then almost instantly perk back up when watered. Helps me notice my own wilting and keep hope that there's some simple thing that could perk me back up.
Love that description of how the plants reflect us back to ourselves in that way. My sister, who is great with plants, always reminds me, "just ask it what it needs"
I enjoyed reading this thrilling and rollercoaster tale of how things go with your first garden. I also moved into a place with a garden a few year ago— and learned that a garden is a long game. It doesn't care about your lists or expectations. Better than that, it teaches you patience and wonder :)
All plants die in this house. Me and my hubby have killed every unkillable plant ever gifted to us. Yet I have a dream of a permaculture back garden full of self sustaining veggies and plants. I rarely go outside yet this is the dream. I even started watching a Udemy course in permaculture and know enough to sound vaguely like I have an idea of what to do. I know nothing though and do not have funds or energy. So I imagine it will stay in my imagination.
Relatable. Allegedly suited-to-our-coastal-space sea buckthorn failed to thrive, while the olive keeps pushing upwards. Slowly. Wildflower seeds sown with too much hope made no mark - until mysteriously turning up 3 years later as cheeky small gatherings. Compost, organic no-dig soils, liquid seaweed, leaf mulch, have been out friends. We relax more lately. Absolutely nothing is under our control. We're in partnership with great mysteries.
- a poem by Caroline Osella
My husband's goal for our next home is to create a garden that will occasionally gift us with a beautiful salad or a pasta topping, have flowers I can sit amongst to write, and tons of dandelions for me to enjoy from our bedroom window. It's funny how it sounds small, but it's so big. It's so big, yet it's really small. One moment at a time. Patience. Sitting with failure and enjoying even the little things—it not dying, even if it didn't really blossom this season.
I appreciate hearing your journey. I felt like I was standing behind you as your learned, which is lovely, as I hope to sit alongside someone as they do similar things soon enough.
Best gardening I ever did was to sprinkle a packet of native wildflower seeds one rainy winter day. I did this when I first bought my house and cleared a sunny, weedy patch where the previous owners stored garbage bins. Then I did basically nothing there except pull the easily identifiable weeds. The reward of myriad wild bee and butterfly and dragonfly visitors in the years to follow, even in the heart of urbanity -- from tiny shiny green-blue bees to huge fuzzy black-and-orange bumblebees to sparkly giant red-orange dragonflies -- has far outweighed the few dollars I spent. I’d spend thousands for that magic.
Here’s a great source for wildflowers native to SF. I share this is the spirit of someone who used to live in the Bay Area and is feeling jealous of your climate. :) Plus, it’s a gorgeous trip out to her nursery in the North Bay if you’re up for it, but she does mail orders as well.
https://larnerseeds.com
This is so beautiful and feels possible too!
Thanks for your lovely essay. I had a garden for a few years, but fell prey to perfectionism. I had raised beds and a pegola built, and put in various plants. Some lived, some died. By year three or four I found if hard to relax in the courtyard garden. All I could see were weeding & dead-heading that needed doing. I paid a gardener but felt guilty for not caring for my plants myself. Then we sold that house, for many good reasons, in the autumn (fall). I developed a system than meant I kept the garden super maintained in just 2 hours per week (because I had to throughout the sale period, and felt obligated to continue until settlement). It was a charming garden, if I say so myself, and I regret that I didn’t get the hang of it earlier so that I could have enjoyed it more while I had it. But better to make a garden and leave a garden than not.
Love this. There are so many metaphors for life in the garden. I always find working in the garden is a bit like our own internal growth and healing. Often 3 steps forwards, 2 steps back. The change is slow and incremental and sometimes hard to see. We have to keep weeding the same patches over and over. Sometimes we neglect it and things unravel. But within that, surprising moments of growth and beauty emerge and then we look at an old photo and see how far we have come 😃
Each year I pick a new area of my yard to plant it. I tend to favor native perennials, thinking I’d only have to plant an area once and then be done. But like your friend, I’ve found that despite researching soil and sun preferences, about a third to half of my plants don’t make it to the next season. Sometimes the “weak” ones surprise me and come back better the next year. Sometimes plants that were thriving the first season never get to that level of growth again. As you say, it’s a practice in letting go of perfectionist expectations. I’m hooked, every winter I day dream and put just a small fraction of those plans in progress each spring, but going on 7 years of gardening like this. I’m starting to see transformation.
In terms of edible plants, I have absolutely no luck. Perhaps they need more care than I’m willing to provide? I’ll try again when my kids are older.
I have a brown thumb for all of the obvious reasons - mostly impatience and the plants being a reflection of my own lack of self-care at any given time - but I am steadily improving in my ability to keep houseplants (and my self) alive.
I love the houseplants who tell me what they need before giving up entirely - the kind that wilt when dehydrated then almost instantly perk back up when watered. Helps me notice my own wilting and keep hope that there's some simple thing that could perk me back up.
Love that description of how the plants reflect us back to ourselves in that way. My sister, who is great with plants, always reminds me, "just ask it what it needs"
I enjoyed reading this thrilling and rollercoaster tale of how things go with your first garden. I also moved into a place with a garden a few year ago— and learned that a garden is a long game. It doesn't care about your lists or expectations. Better than that, it teaches you patience and wonder :)
All plants die in this house. Me and my hubby have killed every unkillable plant ever gifted to us. Yet I have a dream of a permaculture back garden full of self sustaining veggies and plants. I rarely go outside yet this is the dream. I even started watching a Udemy course in permaculture and know enough to sound vaguely like I have an idea of what to do. I know nothing though and do not have funds or energy. So I imagine it will stay in my imagination.
Adored reading this. Thank you for sharing. From one learning-to-let-go-gardener to another 🙏🏼
Oh how I dream of the day when I can return to "watch the flowers grow."