There Are Always Sure to Be More Springs

“Spring is the time of plans and projects.”
– Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

I am not a gardener.

There. I said it. Whew!

My mother is a great gardener. Working in the yard, digging in the soil, making things grow fills her soul with peace and joy. I worked in the yard with her when I was little, but I never understood why she loved scrabbling around in the dirt so much. It was hot, sweaty work, and I would much rather swing or jump rope or draw with chalk on the driveway. It was work.

As a teen, I rebelled. I refused to work in the yard. I made sure that I had things to do when Mom asked me to help her, and I made sure that EVERYone knew how much I despised gardening.

As an adult, my forays into gardening have been sporadic and not overwhelmingly successful. I love the final product; I just don’t love the journey. Again, it’s work, and I have enough work, thankyouverymuch.

This spring, however, is different.

Maybe it’s because last year was so very, very awful. What with the pandemic and quarantine and virtual schooling and illnesses and the political and cultural upheavals and menopause and just LIFE, this spring feels different. I want to get out and make something grow. I want to nurture something. I want to see the journey from seedlings to plants through. I don’t even mind weeding.

Okay, that’s a lie. I mind weeding, but I’ve come to see it as a necessary ickiness.

Last year, my husband, the primary gardener, was sick for much of the year. Between his illness and everything else 2020, I let the garden go. Between a year of neglect and Snowpocalypse 2021, I was sure that we were going to have to start from scratch with new everything – shrubs, groundcover, and intermediate plants.

Imagine my surprise when I got out to start weeding and found that two hostas, three holly ferns, and all the leatherleaf mahonias made it through. Seeing those little hosta leaves struggling up through the soil did a number on me.

So we started working in the garden again. And it’s looking good. We’ve made progress on in the front bed. In the back yard, we now have raised beds with vegetables and herbs. We’re working on getting a compost pile going. This work feels good. It’s a way to get outside, away from the computer. Weeding allows me a few minutes to be by myself, and in these quarantined times, solitude is something I crave.

I’m not really sure where I’m going with this post. Maybe it’s about renewals. Maybe it’s about life finding a way or about looking forward to something joyful after a long, hard winter. Could it be about hope? Probably I’m just being sappy. (Get it? Gardening? Sappy? Huh?) All I know is that I might be turning into a gardener.

But don’t tell my mother!