“We’ll build our house/ And chop our wood/ And make our garden grow/ And make our garden grow!”
I’ve always loved that final lyric from Bernstein’s “Candide.” After enduring indignities and catastrophes and proving beyond doubt that this is not “The Best of All Possible Worlds,”
Candide and Cunegonde agree that though they are neither “pure, nor wise, nor good” they can at last live simple working lives together.
Emphasis on “working.” They will build, they will chop, they will “make” their garden grow. No idyllic lounging and butterfly watching here. To make a garden grow takes work.
How do I know this? I’ve been working in gardens since I was knee high to my rather short Sicilian grandfather, who emphasized the work of gardening above all. His gardens grew beyond all expectations, perhaps beyond belief. On several acres of infertile rented land, he grew the sweetest corn, prize winning potatoes, and tomatoes that are my summer standard.
He grew flourishing fig trees in freezing Connecticut, grafted three different varieties of pears on one tree, ditto peaches and plums. His goal was to be sure his family always had “plenty to eat!”
His secret sauce? Home-grown fertilizer. He raised chickens, ostensibly for their eggs but really for their manure to fertilize his crops. He raised rabbits for stew, sure, but also collected their droppings to add to the manure pile.
I channel my Pa every spring when I plan my vegetable garden. He would scoff at my eight tomato plants, two cucumbers, four broccoli and rows of savory herbs. He’d shake his head at the way I baby and divide dahlia tubers instead of planting garlic. And Miracle-Gro? Even organic Miracle-Gro? He would never understand why we don’t keep chickens and rabbits.
Worst of all, he would be horrified at the weeds. The only time I saw weeds in his garden was when he set me to work pulling the nearly invisible ones between his tomato plants. My weeds are not invisible. They are prolific, and they’re tall. (It’s a lot easier to pull them when they’re tall.)
So, full confession here: I love gardening. In the spring.
I love planning, digging and dividing, spreading Black Earth compost and store-bought manure, and neatly laying out my eight tomato plants, two cucumbers, four broccoli and rows of herbs and pre-sprouted dahlias. Some years I sow carrot and beet seeds and occasionally plant a pepper.
From there, frankly, I really like to be done. Wasn’t that enough work for the summer? Especially a long, hot one?
Let’s face it — weeding? Is there a more thankless task? Your fingernails get filthy (I have yet to find an effective garden glove), your feet get dirty, your knees hurt, and for what? A huge crop of useless green garbage you can’t even compost.
Almost equally, I hate deadheading. Every few years I forget and fall for the pretty face of a colorful petunia, only to recall a few weeks later why I swore never to grow petunias again. The flower dies and just hangs there, looking ugly, while a seed pod grows at the bottom of the stem. If you don’t remove that seed pod, there won’t be any more flowers. So you deadhead.
And repeat. And repeat. Dahlias are different but similar as are far, far too many other flowers. I’ve tried to simplify. Most of my garden is filled with perennials, most of which are easy or low care. None, mind you, are no-care, no matter how hard I’ve tried.
About 10 years ago, around the age of 70, I joined a garden club at the urging of a friend. I am very glad I did. I’ve learned an amazing amount from my fellow club members, especially how satisfying and fun it is to help create beauty for others. My club, Driftwood Garden Club, annually decorates wreaths and swags for elders, and has designed and maintained the gardens at Abbot Public Library for decades. The club even beautified the
grounds of the temporary library location at Eveleth School. Recently, Library Director Kim Grad unveiled a plaque thanking the club for all its work.
The club has also started a project to brighten up the grounds at Farrell Court, with lovely results. While I’ve done fairly little of the work involved, I’m proud to be part of an organization that is so dedicated to doing for others.
My gardens have benefitted from the shared expertise of Driftwood members. My plants are healthier, the designs more pleasing. Club methods are based in healthy natural practices, though there are no chickens or rabbits involved.
Now if only they could teach me a labor free way to eradicate weeds.
