It’s been a weird gardening year. Winter was so non-existent that I went ahead and started putting my spring peas and lettuces in the ground in early February. Then after a warm, dry March and April, May was so cool that my summer garden went in late, with my cucumbers not going in until mid-June. I didn’t fully transition my spring to summer garden until the last week of July, as I finally ripped out the last of the kale and planted field peas.  And since I was out there planting, I went ahead and put some seeds in for a fall garden because, why not? If it’s going to be all topsy turvy, might as well go for broke, right?

The discombobulation around here doesn’t end in the garden. I quit my job last spring without a plan – yes, I know I was excited about that job, but in the end, it was just not a good situation. I’ve spent the last few months licking my wounds, frustrated to have thought I had finally moved on from that empty nesting/menopause existential crisis I’d been stuck in for too long only to find myself right back in it. Except on this second tour of it, there’s an added sense of failure and dissatisfaction, this nagging feeling that outside of my house, I just don’t matter. I’m not at all sure what direction to head in, I just know I’m tired of feeling like all I’m doing is spinning my wheels, going nowhere. I’ve moved beyond a little existential crisis into a full blown mid-life crisis. I find it hard to function some days, so I push myself, afraid I’m going to fall into a rut that I don’t get out of.  My infamous energy – the energy my long time friends classify as that thing that I have just a little too much of, the thing that gets me into trouble – has up and gone to a destination unknown. Worst of all, I can’t seem to find my writing voice. I spent time every day trying to write, but most of it is absolute garbage. I go back and read it later and am astounded at how much it doesn’t sound like me.  It’s a little disconcerting to say the least.   

All of that is to say, I’ve had a lot of time  to spend in my garden. There’s been other things I’ve kept myself busy with – sewing a new wardrobe, traveling, spending days on end making jam, even going to the gym regularly (!) among them – but the garden has always been my favorite place to work out things out. There’s always something new to be learned out there and even when you know what you’re doing, you’re still at the mercy of mother nature. I’ve had a heck of a time with seeds germinating this year, with March and April being too hot and dry, then May and June being too cold and wet with July being too hot for anything to do much. I had a plethora of cucumbers sprout up, but they have been slow to climb the new trellis we installed for them. Even my zinnia patch seemed to struggle, with a good number of the seeds I planted not germinating. Thankfully, the ones that did sprout seem to be filling in nicely so that I can continue my zinnia obsession. The rudbeckia that I bought because it was labeled “rude becky” has been more than happy to fill in the gaps in that bed, along with two (!) volunteer tomatillo plants. And the pole beans are going gangbusters – I’ve picked close to three gallons of them just this week. I planted purple ones this year, which are far easier to see to pick among the thick unruliness of their vines and green leaves.

The tomatoes are spilling over the okra – I caged them instead of building a support for them to climb this year, which in hindsight was probably a lazy mistake. Thankfully, the okra don’t seem to mind as I recently discovered we are now at the point of the season where the okra needs to be checked twice a day. I went with just a few cherry tomatoes this year, tired of losing my big beautiful heirloom tomatoes to the squirrels. Daisy Mae is an excellent companion, but her world view that every living creature is her friend is particularly hazardous to my garden. She has yet to find her voice – given how hounds can bay, I’m not particularly sad about it, but I do wish she could terrorize the squirrels just enough to stay away from my tomatoes. Sigh.

My summer squash has yet to put out anything edible, but the winter squash is sprawling over the entire bed to climb the trellis installed for the cucumbers across the aisle. I guess it figured if no one else was using it, it would? As for my pepper patch, in addition to the starts I get from my friend Cynthia, I had gotten some rather sad looking, struggling starts from another gardening friend – they didn’t have the time or space to nurture them into stronger plants, so they dropped them off to me. I wasn’t sure they would make it, but there they are, anchoring the front right corner of the pepper bed, offering up the first jalapenos of the season.

There’s a metaphor there- giving a struggling little plant space, food, love, time and attention while allowing it to do its thing. It took them a few weeks, if not months, to do anything, but to look at them today, you wouldn’t know those plants started out so small and frail.

Like I said, there’s always a lesson to be learned from the garden.