Cultivating Patience
Jun. 16th, 2009 01:43 pmI've reached the hurry-up-and-wait stage of gardening.
In the early spring, I'm busy and filling my time with planning and prepping - drawing out half a dozen possible layouts on graph paper, reading up on what might grow well in our area, calculating and figuring what will grow best in which beds next to what other plants. Even though there's no physical garden yet, there's progress in my mind and in my ideas.
Later on, near the end of spring, comes the actual dirty work. I love that part - weeding the beds from last year, wandering around the garden stores picking out seeds and seedlings, kneeling in the yard in the sunshine digging out spaces for transplanting. Dirt under my fingernails and the smell of fresh growing things everywhere and feeling like I'm accomplishing something. And for a week or two, every day something new happens. Roots spread, seedlings grow, seeds start to poke their heads out from underground and creep up taller and bigger every day.
And then we hit the slowdown. In a month or so, we'll be overrun by cucumbers and green beans and peas and tomatoes and zucchini and half a dozen other fresh vegetables, and I'll be swamped trying to harvest everything and find ways to eat what we can and put up what we can't. But at the moment, there's nothing left to do.
The raised beds mean little to no weeding, which is wonderful, but also means that I don't have any reason to interact with my veggies on a daily basis. The plants are growing, slowly, but day-to-day there's no perceptible change. And while I love to go out and look at them and make sure everything is fine, there's a serious feeling that as long as I'm watching, nothing's going to happen.
The herb bed is doing fine, and I can use that to my heart's content. The blueberries are *almost* blue. One of our tomato plants has a teeny, fingernail-sized tomato starting to develop, in spite of the general lack of sunlight that feels like it's stunting all of the plants. Soon, I'll have work to do in my garden again.
Soon. Just... not now.
In the early spring, I'm busy and filling my time with planning and prepping - drawing out half a dozen possible layouts on graph paper, reading up on what might grow well in our area, calculating and figuring what will grow best in which beds next to what other plants. Even though there's no physical garden yet, there's progress in my mind and in my ideas.
Later on, near the end of spring, comes the actual dirty work. I love that part - weeding the beds from last year, wandering around the garden stores picking out seeds and seedlings, kneeling in the yard in the sunshine digging out spaces for transplanting. Dirt under my fingernails and the smell of fresh growing things everywhere and feeling like I'm accomplishing something. And for a week or two, every day something new happens. Roots spread, seedlings grow, seeds start to poke their heads out from underground and creep up taller and bigger every day.
And then we hit the slowdown. In a month or so, we'll be overrun by cucumbers and green beans and peas and tomatoes and zucchini and half a dozen other fresh vegetables, and I'll be swamped trying to harvest everything and find ways to eat what we can and put up what we can't. But at the moment, there's nothing left to do.
The raised beds mean little to no weeding, which is wonderful, but also means that I don't have any reason to interact with my veggies on a daily basis. The plants are growing, slowly, but day-to-day there's no perceptible change. And while I love to go out and look at them and make sure everything is fine, there's a serious feeling that as long as I'm watching, nothing's going to happen.
The herb bed is doing fine, and I can use that to my heart's content. The blueberries are *almost* blue. One of our tomato plants has a teeny, fingernail-sized tomato starting to develop, in spite of the general lack of sunlight that feels like it's stunting all of the plants. Soon, I'll have work to do in my garden again.
Soon. Just... not now.