Am I a bad gardener? Lessons from my backyard

My garden is a source of joy, or maybe not, it may be a source of concern for me. I wish I could say that I am a happy gardener. There is no doubt that I love the garden, I take care of it, I am responsible for it, I respect it, I know it. Every morning I walk outside and check on her, often sitting with her and enjoying the life she brings. Of course, I take care of it, but probably not as much as more experienced gardeners would.

But I also have nightmares about it. I dreamed that I had gone out into a garden completely destroyed by pests, and then I dreamed that I was lost in my garden; not in a good way that made me go out to pick cucumbers and "lose myself" for forty-five minutes of weeding, pruning, pruning, tying, fixing, etc.; but in the dream-nightmare I was walking towards my tiny raised ponds and before I could notice, I found myself surrounded by cucumber shoots that were swallowing me. It's terrifying.

My home garden

I started my garden over a decade ago. My daughters were young, and as a teacher on summer vacation most of the time, I thought a small garden would be a nice way to motivate girls to be active in the ground and soil. I wanted them to have some interest in organisms in this way. When they were young, they loved digging pits and making clay pies, but I loved having them near me while I secretly cursed these holes and played with mud.

We started with a raised tub to grow some tomatoes and roses, then some lettuce and cucumbers. Then we planted some eggplants, peppers and corn. The garden has grown, so have my daughters, and now that they're older, they're less interested in getting attached to me, so you casually ask me how the garden is or go out to get some flowers. My younger daughter still helps me with watering or picking roses, but she naturally has other interests now.

But I think they would be sad if I told them I wouldn't take care of the garden anymore. I think they realize that the garden grew with them, and therefore it resembles a sister in a strange way. I think they understand that the garden is a living organism, and that many of the same components of my care for them as humans are represented in my care for the garden plants.

Unfortunately, I'm not a good gardener. I do what I can, but time, money and dedication are sometimes absent. For example, I don't use any herbicide or anything like that. I don't think I want to use any "poison", and I don't want to pay for it. Although this fact prevents me from producing fruit, hand weeding is a very satisfying activity for me, I love dirt sticking to my nails, I love the leafbrush of plants on my neck, and even the buzzing of bees near my ears, which would have usually prevented me from going anywhere else in my yard, has become an attractive sound in the garden. And the birdhouse on the column that rises ten feet above my corn plants is full of corresponding chirps. I imagine chirping and buzzing are small words of encouragement: "Look, that's why you love the garden!"

In addition, I do not use any commercial fertilizer. I use some of what I make myself, but I'm not sure it's a very healthy fertilizer, I'm afraid it's full of weed seeds and maybe some mold and fungus. It looks good smelling like expensive black manure, but my vegetables never look the same in other people's gardens. I have some organic fertilizers, but I'm reluctant to use them because the plants look good: I don't want to mess with the natural balance.

Watering always causes me anxiety. I have a rainwater barrel, I don't use the garden hose because of the disinfectant in the tap water and because I don't want to draw too much water from the water supply. It's not like this park contributes to my survival. It's just a hobby. When the municipality tells me that we are suffering from drought conditions and that water use should be minimized, I feel that I have to comply. So when the week is dry and the rainwater barrel is empty, I apologize to my plants and tell them that there is nothing left.

I probably don't get enough sun in my garden either. The trees on the eastern fence block a great deal of morning sunshine. I think I can cut it down, but one of the trees is a tulip tree, which is amazing. Cutting down this tree would break my heart.

I think the real solution to all these problems is to have more space. It's a dream for me to own a small farm somewhere, but that means more effort, more weeds, and pests.

Comparison with other parks

I read an article last week about writer Jillian Amat's garden, and I took a look at the photos in it. By comparison, my garden looks like a plant in a pot in an apartment window, while its garden resembles a beautiful farm. My garden is jealous, but jealousy is not the right word anyway, and it is a bad trait. The truth is that I am not jealous of her garden, but inspired, not to achieve what she has achieved, but to inspire for humanity. And that people are still taking care of the land.

In another way, her garden makes me humble. Seeing a beautiful garden like this helps me find my place more honestly, accept who I am, why things matter to me, how things might fit into my life, and so on. Humble is perhaps the best word, because in Latin it derives from humus, which means earth, and the earth, yes, is humble.

The truth, after detailing all my flaws as a gardener, is that I tend to sit with a glass of drink and watch the plants grow, and I also tend to do real horticultural work.

The bottom line

Maybe I'm not a good gardener, and maybe it's just a hobby that gives me a sense of peace, even when it's so frustrating. But I know I don't want to be without my garden.

I'm going out now and feeling the sun on my neck, so I'm going to do watering, and weeding. I'll talk to my plant "little friends" and tell them how proud I am of them, and I'll tell them that I hope to enjoy what they can afford from my work, and that I'm sorry for the way our planet is being treated.

In this way, the garden, even the small ones, is full of lessons.