Sweat equity and the joy of cultivating a garden

In this season of unknowns, like others, I am leaning into the small rectangular patch of earth behind our city row home. With many people are confined inside, now is an excellent time to be a home gardener. (Insert bubbling anxiety over the food supply chain here.) In gardening, there are stabilizing forces that ground us when we are feeling uncertain. The predictable rhythms of the garden are very comforting. For me, it's something positive I can control. Nothing quite beats that "Hey, I grew this!" feeling.

Let's rewind back to 2019, to the birth of my garden. I began the year with grand plans meticulously sketched out on some scrap paper. What can I say? I'm a dream-big-or-don't-dream-at-all kind of person. I envisioned a quaint wooden fence, a raised bed bursting with fresh vegetables, and beautiful native wildflowers framing the yard. Our patio was host to a block of marble perched on two cinder blocks from a previous renovation. I imagined the gray veined white slab polished down, serving as a bar top with twinkly lights woven through our pergola.

Last spring, I made tackling the knee-high weeds my primary mission. I leveled out much of the very dense, clay soil in the empty beds. I started composting. When our neighbor's cherry blossom tree sheds its flowers, and later its leaves, I incorporated them into the soil. Grass clippings and other organic matter? I turned those into the ground too. As I dug holes for new plants, I backfilled them with organic soil amendments. I didn't realize how much work I had taken on until I was smack in the middle of a garden, an actual, legit garden. What was once a barren weedy plot, save three outcast red tulips, I cultivated into a cheerful arrangement of flowers and vegetables. I felt accomplished, but I also felt exhausted.

Amending the soil, moving dirt, and planting took up a lot of time. My other garden goals fell by the wayside. Although we did build our raised bed! After the neighbor's overgrown cherry blossom tree filled in with leaves, I quickly realized the raised bed's once sunny location is now mostly shaded in the afternoon. With a lack of sunlight, and let's be real, the squirrels, none of the vegetables planted in the raised bed took off. After spotting small signs of growth, the next day, I found the squirrels used the bed as their personal feast platter. I chalked it up to another lesson learned.

In the season of pandemics, I pad outside each day and excitedly check the progress of my garden. It's become a calming ritual, along with hunting lanternfly nymphs. The native perennial flowers I planted last year are now back with full force. I harvested my first zucchini squash last week. Green and growing larger every day, my tomatoes are prolific. A few jalapeño peppers are ready to collect. Sadly, I lost a strawberry plant to squirrels. We are enjoying the overflowing bounty of herbs – oregano, cilantro, marjoram, mint, rosemary, and basil. Last week, I picked my favorite herb's mature brown seeds – cilantro (also known as coriander). I still need to do a Google on the seed germination process first. I intend to plant a few in a shadier spot and save the rest for pickling and other cooking adventures.

My garden evolved a lot since 2019, and I still have big garden dreams. For example, I would love more early spring plants to extend the growing season of my garden and benefit early pollinators. My urban garden might not be exactly where I want it, but the beauty of a garden is that it's never truly finished. A garden, much like ourselves, requires care, love, and regular weeding to produce bountiful rewards.