This year, we skipped spring and went right to summer (again). The radishes and bok choy bolted to seed without producing anything edible (other than the radish seed pods themselves). Surprisingly, the lettuce is only now beginning to sour. The peas are browning, and the beans have barely surfaced. The zucchini are producing well, and this has been a great year for raspberries, but other things are a bit slower. Including myself. I'm reluctant to go out in the brain-melting heat, but if you wait for a cooler day, it's only cooler because it's pouring rain.
I'm not that old, and I'm still able to do the physical labour that's required in the garden. I still love the feel of dirt on my hands and the smell of green, growing things. I relish being able to step outside and collect food for supper, to graze the strawberry patches, to snap off fresh peas and pop them in my mouth without bothering to take them into the house. I love putting up food for the winter. I'm filled with ideas for plantings and plant varieties to try.
At the same time, I can foresee a day when this will be too much to continue. The seasons will only grow hotter and the rain will only grow heavier, as the climate changes. My joints won't always feel as good as they do today. I'm no longer feeding hordes of people every day. And some of my raised beds are beginning to fall apart and need refurbishing. So...
I'm thinking it's time to re-envision the garden. Maybe as I remove or replace the beds, I should incorporate dwarf fruit trees, more fruiting shrubs. Replace annuals with perennials. Reconfigure the watering. Add more flowers. Make it lower maintenance. Think shade and places to sit more than abundance. I can still get what I need from the farmers' market when it comes to bottling tomatoes or putting up fava beans. Maybe I don't need to grow it all myself.
There's something almost scary about rethinking the garden. It's letting go of assumptions and, maybe, self-identity. For 35+ years, I've been the person who grows a lot of her own food. Who knows her way around plants. But just because you've done something all your life, it doesn't mean you have to go on doing it. I've let go of my career and don't intend to go back to it. Maybe it's time to reconsider gardening in the same way. I'll always want green space and a place to putter outdoors, but maybe it doesn't have to be Green Acres. And maybe someday, it doesn't even have to be a place I own and control. It means giving up my self-perception. Some independence. Maybe some security. At a time when the world is facing food shortages, is this the time to slack off? These are the thoughts that keep me up at night.
I'll focus on soft places to land more than packing every inch with food, or growing every variety from amaranth to zucchini. I'll let myself trust the farmers' market to supply what I need in bulk, and only grow the specialty stuff. Focus on beauty as much as production.
I think this reflects the change I'm undergoing in the rest of my life, too. Slow down. Sit sometimes. Think about what's important and not just keep busy. Enjoy walking in nature without feeling the compunction to cultivate it or control it. Same with the people in my life -- enjoy but don't control. Let the kids grow up. Let me grow up, too. Enjoy this new stage of my life.
Well, it's a nice thought, but we'll see. I suspect come February, I'll be clawing through the seed catalogues as usual, envisioning where to plant the eighteen varieties of beans I want to try. It's a balance between setting myself realistic limits and wanting to dream beyond limits. But maybe now it's more about letting myself dream differently.
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