Planning the garden

Last fall, I sat down and wrote out what I was going to plant and where, keeping in mind crop rotation and companion planting and practicality and all of that. I inventoried what my family easts the most and what staples will help curb the grocery bill. And then the seed catalogues started coming in, and my plans have been tossed out the window.

I want to try Amsterdam celery, a type of leaf celery, in my hydroponics system. I want to plant Konika parsley even though it takes two seasons to mature. I want swathes of chia and sweetgrass and sorghum. There are about five types of cabbage I want to experiment with. There are clever herb ladders I want to build from old pallets. Melons bred to mature in northern climes. Tomatoes every colour under the sun. All of this while the little voice niggling in my head says, "You are going to be away a lot of this summer. How can you possibly do this?"

We have a couple of 2-week trips to take this summer. We have a church to renovate and its yard to maintain, 2 1/2 hours from our house. There's a stack of stained glass windows I need to restore. I will likely have grandchildren to care for. Somewhere in there, I have to squeeze in writing the novel that is way overdue. Oh, and oh yeah, I work full time.

How to tame the gardening impulse and balance out everything else I am supposed to be doing? Why have I arranged my life in such a way that I have to spend time doing all these other things, when what I really want to be doing is fitting cut-off pool noodles around the stems of my sunflowers and snapping green beans? What can I cut out so that I can devote more time to my passion of feeding people? Isn't that passion really the most important thing these days, as so many face hunger?

One idea I have is to avoid planting things like green beans and peas this year, because they require daily babysitting, whereas long-maturing things like pumpkins and sweet potatoes don't necessarily need as much attention. I've also considered planting the whole garden at home to something like oats or dry beans that take little care, and then borrowing a piece of land up by the church, so I can garden while I'm staying up there working on the renovations. No running back and forth worrying about the property I'm not at. Or I could find an apartment-dweller who is a frustrated farmer at heart who could use my garden at home in exchange for a share of the produce. I'll have to give it some serious thought when I'm in a better mood. Because if you asked me today, I feel like selling house and church, quitting my job, giving up writing, and disappearing into a remote acreage with a shovel and hoe and a pressure canner.