Getting Dirty

This past summer, I had a garden. It was amazing, and though I am biased, it is also true. See?

I began the fall with a freezer full of food, and we even bought a new chest freezer to accommodate some of the extra.

In the spring, digging in the garden felt absolutely essential and therapeutic. I planted seedlings indoors, I tilled the whole thing by hand outside, I watched my seedlings sprout and grow and I felt good again after my SAD winter (which, I'm afraid, is something of an annual occurrence I'm working to manage). But then, there's this interim period between the joy of seeing new things grow again and the eventual harvest, and all of my motivation got sucked away as the weeds got crazy and my veggies were still too small to crowd them out. In the end, the product was great, and I'm pleased with my pickles and frozen veggies, but I also realized this past year that I (shockingly) bit off more than I wanted to chew. The yield wasn't worth the misery. (Don't get me wrong, I spent many happy hours in the garden as well and ate much healthier this summer than I have in a long time, but I'm talking straightforward utilitarian happiness vs. product here).

So, I decided to make some changes and scale back. This was part of an initiative that our department at work took on this year to tackle the essentials of our job and let the rest fall away. I realized that I was overdoing it in my hobby-life as well. Turns out that I don't have to supply my family with our sole source of vegetables for the winter...because I live less than a mile from a grocery store. I also can make choices about eating more locally without having to grow things in my garden, hence our decision to join a farmstand CSA this year which was magical. In keeping with these ideas I was rolling around in my head, I determined that garden is essential, but that it didn't have to take over my entire summer and that there were smarter ways for me to set it up to minimize my workload and maximize my enjoyment. For goodness' sake, when you take on a hobby voluntarily, it should never feel like torture (except running. That will always feel like torture).

I decided to do some lasagna gardening, and built some very low frames to outline my beds this fall. I decided to start with four 4x4' beds, and see how that goes. I loaded my beds with a layer of cardboard and newspaper, then compost, grass clippings, and a big old layer of leaves. They're about a foot tall now, but should shrink down over the winter. The cardboard is meant to smother weed growth, and in this type of gardening, plants are put close enough together to shade out weeds better than in row gardening. I'm planning to do a bed of tomatoes and basil next year, and some combination of carrots, beets, onions, green beans, peas, squash, and greens. Maybe even some flowers (I've promised Claire sunflowers). I've plotted out about 5 different garden plans, but have decided to put those away so that I have some process of gardening to enjoy in the dead of winter (namely perusing seed catalogs and drawing my beds).

I think it will be much more manageable this year, especially since in my household, there are only 1.5 gardeners (Claire is learning, but her stamina is low at this point). I value the fresh produce, but also my sanity. Like anything in life, it's a balance.