Small Harvest
Every year I tend a garden. It is fertilized by last year’s compost both of the kitchen and barnyard varieties. It is tilled and raked smooth until my hands are calloused and sore. The rocks, that seem to grow better than anything else, are removed and stacked. I painstakingly map out where each variety will be planted – either alongside a companion or as far away as possible from an antagonist. Flats of seedlings are lovingly tended to until all danger of frost is gone. Other seeds are hand sewn into the warm earth later in the growing season. And then I wait. And wait. And wait. But while I’m waiting I’m busy keeping the invaders at bay. Why do weeds grow so much faster than my crops?! I water and watch. Is that a sprout I see? Tending a garden requires patience. There is no instant gratification. Then one hot summer day the bare dirt patch is replaced by luscious green plants. That’s when I think to myself this is worth all the effort. But the work doesn’t end. New invaders of the 6-legged variety find my garden appealing as well. They want to take part in the bounty. So ever vigilant I remove the opportunistic buggers by hand and research pesticide-free ways to keep them at bay. With any luck the end of the growing season leaves me an abundance of produce – enough to share, enough to make meals, enough to preserve. Then as the days shorten and the temps stay low, I start to wonder about next year’s garden.
Unfortunately, this year my garden tending did not go as planned. It was as though the universe conspired against me. First I had gotten a late start. Secondly, the kids (aka the goats aka Ethel, Tiffany, Nugget, and Nelly) decided the grapevines that climb the fence was delicious and better than anything else growing on the seven acres. Their little hooves made holes in the chicken wire. Then their curious little heads made larger holes as they decided what was inside was even more interesting. Okay, I got this I thought. With the help of the hubs and the children, the fence was reinforced. It only took a few hours and with that my garden was back on. We tilled. We raked. Compost was spread. My overly stressed and overgrown early season seedlings were finally planted (better late than never). Then the final blows came in the form of hurricane Frank (aka Dad) and unrelenting rain. The rain left the plot so muddy that it couldn’t be worked and by the time it dried enough, the weeds had already taken hold. Hurricane Frank didn’t do any damage but he sure did require a lot of time in prep and prevention. I couldn’t keep up. So I settled on maintaining the small area that was already planted. A small harvest was going to be better than no harvest.
Remember those kids of mine with their tiny hooves and curious heads? Well, the broccoli and peppers and bean plants were just too inviting. So Tiffany who is the most independent of the four decided that she’d try to get into the garden in the very same spot she stuck her head through earlier in the season. I chased her away. I sprayed her with water. I doused the fence in deer deterrent. Nope, she was insistent on getting in. One day while I was away visiting Dad, Tiffany or Ethel figured out the latch on their stall door. I came home to a hole in the garden fence and every plant eaten down to a nub. There they were, my adorable purveyors of chaos, fat and happy in my vegetable patch. Needless to say, I shed a tear. I threw my hands up. I declared that I was done with the garden. It was too late to start over. At least they didn’t eat the basil plants.
I swear I ran through all the stages of grief. My barren but densely weeded garden became both an eye sore and a sore spot. I don’t know if it was disappointment, anger, sadness, or a combination of the three that made me want to stop caring. Didn’t I have more important things to do this summer than worrying about a garden? Needless to say, I was having a hard time coping and I even contemplated getting rid of my kids. Finally, I landed on acceptance and decided that I would have until next spring to come up with a plan. Bolstered by my new positivity I ventured back to the garden to pick some basil and dump scraps into the compost bin. And there growing from a mound of last year’s compost were a bunch of tiny seedlings – undistinguishable but all of the squash variety. The goats had grown tired of the garden so the babies would be safe. Plus goats don’t like to eat squash plants. A harvest was still a possibility.
As the seedlings matured I was able to identify and separate them. There was cozzini, butternut, mini pumpkins, and large pumpkins. All the seeds were left over from the prior fall’s harvest and now a new generation of squash would grow. I had new hope and every day I tended to the plants. Cozzini is a prolific climber and it quickly filled the fence with vines and white flowers. The pumpkin and squash spread throughout the garden and up the fencing. Beautiful orange blossoms formed and the bees made quick work of pollinating them. I love watching bees inside squash blossoms. They are cradled and covered in pollen and when they fly off they are dusty messes of orange. With any luck, all or some of the plants would mature and bear fruit before the end of the season.
The season waned and with the arrival of fall, I had a harvest albeit a small one. The cozzini never fruited but the others did. Just in time for Halloween, we were able to pick two decent-sized pumpkins and two mini ones. The butternut squash was a little more successful with a harvest of six fully grown fruits and a few smaller ones. Nope, this harvest was not the bounty I wished it would be but it was something nonetheless. And something is better than nothing. After all, I had given up on my garden but it didn’t give up on me. It sprang forth plants from last year’s waste after I was determined to not garden again. And it provided plants that the kids had not wanted to eat. It was almost as though Mother Nature was looking out for me. Her forces kept me from having the time-consuming garden I normally keep because I simply did not have the time. Her minions of destruction feasted and got fat on plants my lack of time would have forced me to give up on. But when life slowed up a bit and my attention could turn back to my hobbies, the seedlings were bringing forth new hope. Sometimes we can’t tend to our gardens. But sometimes our gardens tend to us. Yes, this small harvest was indeed the best.
