An Incompetent Gardener
by
Olof Wood
As winter gives way to spring, I have a vision of transforming my barren garden into a flowering paradise. I've never had a garden that lived up to this fantasy, so next year I'm planning a "natural" design. In this natural garden no fertilizer will be added to the soil, and no additional watering will be done, so I won't be trying to fool Mother Nature. The plants will grow naturally short and sparse so they won't need thinning, staking or dividing. This design is well suited to incompetent gardeners.
When I started gardening, I read books and pamphlets on this popular hobby. I learned that being close to the soil fulfils a basic human need. Working in the garden can enhance physical condition, relieve tension and provide a sense of accomplishment. Many people say it keeps them in touch with down-to-earth values. Couldn't I get the same benefits by making mud pies?
Every year I tackle the garden with enthusiasm. I get out the fork and shovel and hoe, the rake and trowel. Then dressed in some of the kid's cast-off shirts, sweaters and jeans I set out to prepare the soil. I want to look as if I know what I'm doing, so I wear gloves and a favourite old gardening cap. Digging and turning over the soil is backbreaking work and every year I find that the most important garden accessory is a big bottle of liniment. In my garden the clay that masquerades as soil has trouble absorbing water when dry, and when wet doesn't drain well, so one year I got a couple of bags of sand and dug it in to try to loosen things up. The sand seemed to disappear and I feel quite sure it was sinking down to the centre of the earth. By now, it's probably loosening up somebody's garden in China.
When I finally get to the point where something can be planted, it's time to go to the garden centre which is full to bursting with seeds and bulbs, trees, shrubs and flowering plants. I try to grow things we enjoy eating and things we like to look at, so I spend hours weaving through the plant aisles before finding exactly what I want. I scatter the seeds in neat, evenly spaced rows and then dig the plants in, hoping that this year I've left enough room for them to grow properly.
My flower beds are in front of the house for all the world to see. Is it too much to ask that they stay colourful all summer long? What I want is beautiful, healthy flowers and what I get is wizened, yellowing foliage with only a few blossoms. There's not much justice where gardening is concerned. My favourite flowers over the years have been those that didn't wither and die on the vine.
A lush vegetable garden is a delicious feast for the eyes. Many vegetable plants have beautiful flowers and foliage that can be admired the same as ornamental flowers, with the added pleasure of anticipation of great tastes to come. So why does my kitchen garden never look like it should? Cabbages just sit there, defying all advertised claims made for them, tomatoes the size of marbles hang there green and hard, corn plants look as though they've been struck by lightning. I could easily buy cheap, perfectly good produce, but I sow lettuce and green onions, carrots and beets, because home grown tastes better. The plants may be straggly and struggling, but they are survivors. I think of them as my garden of good taste.
Unfortunately, the good taste also appeals to all kinds of pests. Armies of cutworms and cabbage worms, aphids and ants have taken up residence at different times. I get exhausted just thinking of the years I've spent in hand-to-hand combat. Neighbourhood cats love to take nighttime strolls through my garden, and dogs like to frolic there in the daytime.
One year, when I neglected the weeding, I was reluctant to go out to that jungle without a machete. I invited the neighbours over to admire my weeds. Anything that can grow almost an inch per hour deserves to be congratulated on a successful year. Someone suggested that since the garden seemed to be fading away, it should be given last rites. Later, when I hacked my way through the weeds, there were the vegetables, proving that they are far hardier than we give them credit for.
I guess gardeners are born, not made, but springtime still fills me with optimism. I just know that this year will be different from every other year. This season, everything will come together. As the summer progresses, but the garden doesn't, I once again am forced to face the truth about myself. I am unquestionably horticulturally challenged.