Each spring I make plans for the garden. Some ideas work, and some don’t. Last year, the beets barely showed up, but I had a bumper crop of potatoes, garlic, and squash. The edge of our property runs along a city walking path, and I’m still figuring out what plants work best because the light is tricky there.
The occasional surprise pest can wipe plants out in just a few days — I learned this the hard way the first time I grew broccoli.
Our early spring also could get disrupted by a sudden cold snap late in the season. And tomatoes, my favorite thing to grow, are subject to a variety of challenges here in the Pacific Northwest.
The work doesn’t always pay off. And yet, over time, bit by bit, the garden takes shape. Each spring, I feel renewed hope for the season. I keep trying…and sometimes I surprise myself with the results.
Maybe that’s why writing and gardening go hand in hand. Both activities take a certain level of persistence, and an ability to shake off the tough times. The stories don’t always take shape, so I have unfinished novels sitting in the drawer, some of which are salvageable, some not so much. Readers may not find me or like my work when they do.
Yet every day, I get up, and I do them both, and I maintain hope. One day, I hope to have a magnificent “food forest” in my front yard. Every spring, the seed catalogs bring new excitement. Maybe this is the year the carrots take off. I hope to finish my current WIP this year and share it with the public. Other ideas are formulating in my brain.
They don’t all work out. But I persist.