gardening

Potting Up

April 29, 2013 by admin

My first plantings...spending the days outside, nights indoors until the frost danger passes. — My first plantings…spending the days outside, nights indoors until the frost danger passes.

Here in the Pacific Northwest, tomatoes are a challenge to grow. The Holy Grail, my hairdresser advises me. Kimberly has had a knack for accuracy in the year or so since I met her at an olive oil tasting, so when she says something, I believe her.

Of course, I also like a challenge. Back in the day, I was one of those women who sought out men who were just that, and the more emotionally unavailable they were, the better. If life gets too easy, I get nervous. A long time ago I learned to break off those relationships in favor of healthier ones, but apparently I still need to beat my head against the wall now and then…so why not grow something that some people say I can’t?

The problem here (with tomatoes, not men) is a lack of heat. We have to coax, cajole, and sometimes trick the plants in order to get fruit from them. Summer disappears at times before it arrives, keeping the fruit from turning red. While I don’t mind the occasional fried green tomato, I like mine fully ripened, thank you.

This year I grew them from seed, which helped me get through the dark, moody winter days. As the seedlings started to sprout and grow, I learned how to “pot up” the plants before setting them outside. That means I keep putting the plants in larger and deeper pots as they grow. I set them deep into the new pots and trim off the bottom leaves, burying most of the stem. This allows them to form long, substantial root systems.

Setting down roots is not my forte. Growing up, our family moved around from town to town due to job changes and transfers. Even in Houston, where I lived for 30 years, I found myself repeating the pattern, moving into new neighborhoods and apartments when changing jobs. I lived in one house for nearly ten years, but other than that, I’ve lived the life of the proverbial rolling stone. When hubby and I settled down and married, we satisfied our restless spirits and itchy feet through travel. Now that we live in the type of place we always wanted to travel to, we travel less. It’s good for the garden for me to be home, but at times I still yearn for the vagabond life.

When I arrived in Port Townsend a year ago, I planted the seed of myself here. Like a good tomato plant, I grew toward the light and started the process of growing my roots. I didn’t grow into my new home as soon as I expected…but little by little, I am getting to know people and am finding my way.

On a daily basis, I’m consulting gardening books and online resources. These tomato plants, grown from seed, are my precious children. Some of them have died along the way, and I have grieved every loss. Still, I now have so many thriving plants that I’m not sure where I’m going to put them all. As I’ve gotten to know some people better, I’ve learned that not every seed of friendship will grow, either. Some will thrive, some will not. Some will grow slower than others.

Later plantings, just starting to spend some time outdoors.

It’s too soon to tell if my efforts in tomato growing will pay off. Next week I’m going to a class taught by a local expert, but unpredictable weather wreaks havoc here, as it does with any garden anywhere. It’s possible that I will go to all this trouble and not get a single tomato. Still, I’ve increased the odds, and my life is better for having taken the chance. Planting a garden means I’m willing to take a risk. Moving cross-country means taking a risk with new people, new situations, new culture.

As I help my tomatoes build their root system, I am also building my own. It takes time, patience, and some finesse. I will do my best to create sturdy plants, and in doing so, increase my own sturdiness.

This little guy was planted early but is taking his sweet time...but I hung in there, and he's starting to grow. Who knows why the same seed grown in the same place acts so differently? — This little guy was planted early but is taking his sweet time…but I hung in there, and he’s starting to grow. Who knows why the same seed grown in the same place acts so differently?

Emerging From Hibernation

February 4, 2013 by admin

Each day gets two point something minutes longer, and already, at the beginning of February, I notice a difference. It’s my first winter in the Pacific Northwest, so I’ve had to adjust to the darkness, just as in the summer I had to adjust to the days that seem endless. “You will sleep more in the wintertime,” someone promised me, and he was right.

January, with its slow pace, allowed me to make plans for the springtime garden without feeling rushed. My first seedlings are now sprouting on windowsills, and I’m feeling less like a hibernating bear and more like a mother early in the morning, tiptoeing around while everyone’s asleep, making preparations. It’s a shift in perspective that has made the darkness bearable.

Planting vegetables from seed requires patience. Each morning and evening, I give them a spritz of water. I have some growing directly on windowsills, while others sit on a table under a grow lamp. Every few days, I plant a few more. Little by little they sprout, some more delicate than others. I have to listen to them, adjusting water and light needs based on what they show me in their growth. Late this month, I’ll be able to put some of the hardier souls in the ground. Hopefully these modest sprouts will produce a bounty of food later in the year, and I’m also learning how to preserve the harvests that I get.

As a writer, I feel as though I’m doing the same thing. I’m re-evaluating what I’m willing to do to market my work…and what I am not. I’m planting small seeds by working on a new novel. Another wonderful idea is starting to emerge that could turn into yet another book, so I’ve added it to the idea list for now. I will blog when I want to, rather than trying to blog for a certain number of days every week, and I’ll comment on others’ blogs when I read something that I find meaningful. I want to remember the joy and play of writing and not worry so much about trying to sell what I do. If I read a book that really jumps out at me, I’ll write about it…but frankly, I’ve read a lot of sucky books lately, and I no longer feel the desire to come up with a good one every single week.

It’s natural to want to share one’s work, just as it’s natural to want one’s efforts in the garden to produce food and flowers. I just don’t want to be so attached to the outcome that I forget to wander the garden to visit the plants, or forget that writing is supposed to be fun. As the sun adds a few more days to its journey across the sky, I am adding back a bit here and there, but just a little at a time. That is enough.

Cover Crop

December 6, 2012 by admin

The garden is quiet; most of my vegetable beds are empty, and the fruit trees have gone dormant as the winter darkness descends. I have many plans for the garden and dream eagerly of spring when I can load the beds with fruit, vegetables, and herbs. In the meantime, the beds beg for cover crop, a mix of plants that fertilize the soil and protect it from winter conditions. “Green compost,” it’s called. One of the eight beds has a thriving crop, while the others wait for my loving attention. Come spring, I will chop up the cover crop and turn it into the soil, where it will work its magic.

Gardening creates a balance for my writing. The physical work and time outdoors offsets the hours spent hiding behind a computer. Every time I harvest a vegetable or clear out a weed, plot problems resolve more easily. Scenes appear that provide juice for the story. It’s as though the ideas are in the very soil, and I need only dig my hands in to pull them out like so many beets.

I have avoided the garden lately for reasons I cannot detail here. In my absence, weeds have cropped up, and the remaining greens wonder when I will harvest them. The naked beds call to me to protect them from the winter elements with cover crop or mulch. I long for the day when I can once again dig my hands into the dirt without looking over my shoulder in fear, and I long for the day when I no longer feel the need to restrict and censor what I write here.

Being a spiritual sort, I have puzzled about this, asking myself and my higher power, “What is the lesson here?”

Yesterday I took a deep breath and walked outside, bucket and trowel in hand. I dug up weeds. I planted my cover crop. Is it too late to do that? I don’t really know, but all I can do is try. Somehow it felt that as I created protection for my garden, I was protecting myself as well. By confronting my fears, I could start to take my power back.

One of my fictional characters is having a tough time of it these days. She’s unwittingly gotten involved in a scandal that has cost her her job and her relationship. I’ve toppled her from a high perch, and now she will have to find out what stuff she’s made of. She’s going on her hero’s journey, and I’m not sure how I’m going to dig her out of her many jams just yet. All I know is that for her to have her journey, I must have mine.

As I dug in the dirt, I had a plan. If anything bad happened, I reminded myself, I could walk away without a word and return another time. Thankfully, though, the negative force was nowhere to be found, and I had sweet peace in the garden. I nearly wept with joy, as though reconnecting with a dear friend. I wrapped my cover crop of self-compassion and protection around me, reminding me that I am strong. This, too, shall pass.

Hardening Off

April 18, 2012 by admin

Living in a new home has meant a new garden and a new gardening climate. From Texas to the Pacific Northwest, I’m now dealing with fewer temperature extremes, but I’m also working with cooler weather and a different rain pattern. I now own a stack of books to help me get started, and I’ve been quizzing master gardeners at every opportunity.

While fertilizing and composting the raised beds in my backyard (complete with deer fence, thanks to the sellers of the house), I’ve been growing seeds indoors under a grow light. In Texas, I just stuck my seeds in the beds, so this is a new experience.

So, too, is the term “hardening off.”

Basically, hardening off means I take my seedlings outdoors for a period of time and get them used to being outside, then bring them in. Each day I extend their time outdoors until they are ready to go into the ground and endure the elements.

I started hardening off my broccoli and onion seedlings. One day I kept them out a little too long, and my onions got droopy. I brought them in, frantic that I had pushed them too far, too fast. I was more careful the next day. Fast forward another four or five days, and they were hardy enough to stay out all day long. As of Sunday, they now have their place in the garden bed.

I’m feeling a bit like those onions. Each day brings new surprises and affirmation that moving to Washington was the right thing for us. Still, even a happy move, one born from choice and options, requires adjustment. I’m still tired from the move. I’m living in a lovely house that doesn’t quite feel like mine yet. Routines are changing, and I suspect that life is going to make many new twists and turns. I haven’t quite “landed” yet. Like the onions, I have gotten droopy from expecting too much, too fast.

Yesterday I began this year’s incarnation of the Colorado Cleanse, which I did on my own last year. The Colorado Cleanse is a two-week detox program that is gentle and safe, and is based on Ayurvedic principles. Through a non-allergenic diet, herbs, gentle yoga, breathwork, and meditation, the body and mind can embrace rejuvenation.

This time around, I am working with an online group rather than doing the cleanse on my own. For the next few weeks, my calendar is quiet. Friday, I get a much-needed massage. I’ve slowed the pace so that I will focus on one room per day, hanging pictures and finding places to put things. I’m looking forward to pulling back, turning inward, and adjusting to my new home. I’m also looking forward to the day when I feel fully planted here, but I know it’s going to take a little while.

The plants teach me so much of what I need to know about living. I wouldn’t dream of pushing those fragile little seedlings into the world before they’re ready. By waiting just a few days, the plants were much hardier, and they are now thriving outside. With the cleanse, with rest, and with giving myself time to explore my new home gently, I too am hardening off so that I can grow and bloom in my new life.

Good Morning, Monday! Happy October!

October 3, 2011 by admin

Chocolate Mint — Fresh chocolate mint is re-appearing after it appeared to be dead!

Day five into my Yoga Journal cleanse, I’m excited about the process. Overall I have felt energized, and not hungry at all. Yesterday I started to get sick of kitchari, but I can hang in there for a few more days.

As I’ve mentioned, we’ve been cleaning out our house, too, and that feels good. A huge stack sits in the front of the den, waiting to be donated tomorrow. Rooting through the “stuff,” we find treasures and memories. Stories emerge. We both feel lighter, happier.

Certainly, resting and cleansing can bring up a lot of old, stuck emotions, but as we pass through them and get to the other side, we find new ideas and make new plans. Life starts to look shiny and new again. This month, we will explore “lightness.” Part of me says, “uh oh,” because I’m a fairly intense, serious individual…but maybe because of the cleansing and cleaning, I feel more ready to play.

Green Peppers — Cooler weather brings out new baby bell peppers.

This morning I spent some time in the garden. The Texas drought destroyed a good bit of my vegetables and even some native plants that were supposed to withstand the lack of rain. A few days ago, a front moved through and at least brought the heat down — our highs are now in the upper 80s, and the air is dryer. The mornings feel downright pleasant!

Anyway, as I wandered the garden, using stored rainwater to give the plants a drink, I saw signs of hope. A tiny new strawberry leaf here, carrot seedlings there, and even a re-emergence of the salvia that looked hopelessly dead. New peppers have appeared, and the sage is blossoming again. It doesn’t take much relief for plants to start coming back!

After a long, difficult summer, change is in the air, healing change. No, the drought isn’t over — it may go on for years, the forecasters tell us — but we are getting a bit of a respite. I’m sick of the drought and sick of kitchari, but hope emerges. The cleanse will end, the heat will lessen, and a glorious season is around the corner. I can hang in there a little while longer.

Daring to Rest

September 21, 2011 by admin

I’ve written a lot about rest this week. So far, I’ve stuck with my plan to take some rest time in the afternoons. Yesterday I was reminded of kindergarten, with my little red mat, and the milk and cookies that came after quiet time. I never slept — I wasn’t a napper, even then — but I remember fondly curling up on that mat. Maybe it’s why I’ve come to love my yoga mat so much!

There’s a hidden danger in all this resting, however. Dare to rest, and I cannot be responsible for what might happen!

When we find ourselves in a quiet, peaceful space, allowing our minds to unclutter, something happens. We start to notice the thoughts and feelings rattling around inside, and hearing our inner truth. It’s not always pretty, and it can definitely be inconvenient!

Case in point: since we returned from Switzerland, we’re still in a restful mode. We’re working, but we’re unwilling to put pressure on ourselves to achieve. In the quiet of our return, a message has emerged loud and clear. Well, it’s more like a question. “If you like the mountains so much, why do you still live in Houston?”

Indeed. Why are we here?

For years, the answer was easy. I had work and friends. Henry was raising a family, and his parents were here as well. I even used to like the heat! Then his children grew up and left home, and his parents died. While all of this was going on, we were traveling more, and taking trekking poles with us wherever we went. Our travel decisions started to center on where we could hike. We fell in love with two places in particular: the Pacific Northwest and Switzerland.

Still, we didn’t stop to think about living elsewhere until we came home. Henry called me from a bike ride, complaining about the heat and the lack of places to bike in the city. I, meantime, was doing my daily meditations and starting to rest. “Why not move?” the inner voice asked. “Why not live in the environment that you love the best?”

Why not? Because we humans love inertia and habit. Sometimes the prospect of change just looks like too darn much work. Still, there comes a time when the pain of change is less than the pain of staying the same, and I think we’re just about there.

We are taking the next step by planning a trip to explore an area in Washington State that meets the criteria we have set. I try not to think about the work involved, of selling our house, finding another, and moving all our stuff a few thousand miles. This is the problem with resting. When you start getting ideas, they involve a certain amount of work.

Resting stops our complacency. Resting asks questions. Resting holds a mirror up to us and suggests, gently, that we see things a little differently. It may not cause us to want to relocate, but it may show us something in life that wants to change. Resting reveals who we are under all that busy-ness. There, we may feel emotions we don’t want to feel — but we will also learn the truth of ourselves. We will find our yearnings, our hopes, our dreams. We find surprises. I didn’t know until age 51 that I had a passion, and a certain amount of skill, for gardening. Resting showed me the way and suggested that I give it a go.

Rest if you dare! Take a little time each day, even if it’s five minutes, and let yourself unplug from the world. What does your rest tell you?