My Garden, AKA Me Being Tiresome, Talking About 30 Square Feet
After more than twenty years of marriage, we finally bought a house. The house has a garden, but nobody had worked much on it for the previous year or so. My better half talked about having some vegetables, or perhaps an herb garden in the little herb box by the side of the house. Herb box/vegetable garden did not materialize.
As my job search stalled, boredom set in. The sort of boredom which leads to videos that go viral for all the wrong reasons. So, rather than shoot a short film which features a leaf blower, a propane tank, a bottle of Svedka, and completely predictable property damage and bodily harm, I turned my eyes to the outdoors area of the house. As spring crept in, with the help of a good friend (thanks J!!) the garden was organized, ordered, trimmed, and cleaned up.
Nice.
Now what?
Still being bored, I decided to tinker. I went ahead and tore out the salt cedar that was sending roots everywhere, undermining the house much the way February reality undermines New Year’s resolutions. In the empty space where it once stood so proudly and destructively, I planted a couple of wildflower mixes which were bought, for a reasonable price, at our local Lowes. After all, relief of boredom does not have to be expensive, does it? Besides, I didn’t want to go overboard or anything, and become one of those Crazy Gardening Types.
But there were unhappy plants and some weeds there as well, so I cleared up a bit more, but not too much, and some more reasonably priced seed mix seeds were scattered in their place. Then a bit on the side of the house. And a bit in front. While this was more than I originally intended, I had time, I had seeds, and I had low expectations.
To my everlasting shock and surprise, the flowers actually bloomed! In fact, they exploded like a burst pipe, if the pipe had been pumping rainbows. By late spring, the flowers were in full bloom, nicely complementing the existing flowering plants and trees. Drunk on my newly discovered powers, I vowed to continue.
However, this was delayed, since the job search was suddenly successful, and I ended up with a job thousands of miles away, in sunny California.
Leaving my California job in the early spring and returning home, the pull of the garden reasserted itself, as well as a vague memory of my vow. Well, more truthfully, I was bored again. I was still determined not to let gardening get the best of me, but standing in place and resting on my floral laurels seemed unsatisfying, and, after all, I was bored, I had gardening tools(newly purchased), and I had yards.
So I took a shovel and spade and bag of soil to the backyard and planted a mix of flowers which are supposedly attractive to our fluttering friends (no, I do not know what flowers they were — the bag said “butterfly flowers” so that’s all I know. Yes, I know that I should have solicited the opinions of actual butterflies, but it was still March, and none were to be found). These were somewhat more expensive than the previous year’s generic seed mix, but if I was going to do it, at least I should do it properly, no?
And the flowers emerged, and the butterflies were happy, and another spring passed to summer, and another summer passed to fall, and another fall passed to winter, and the garden rested.
So did I. Sort of. Mostly. Without my garden, things seemed to be a little less interesting, a little more boring. As winter waned, I wandered through the remains of the previous year’s efforts, looking at the brown patches of the previous year’s flowers. Now that the flowers were dead and gone, the patches where they once bloomed seemed… small. I looked over the backyard and the sides of the house, and thought about what else I could do.
But wait! What is this? An entire front yard, as yet ungardened?
Staring out at all that dead grass and what now seemed to be a meagre patch of flowers, I thought of the Earth. I thought of the pollinators for which the flowers were planted. I knew then what had to be done. In a fit of Green Madness, I decided that I would establish a Native Wildflower Garden. Equipped with a shovel, enthusiasm, and nothing resembling a plan, I cleared some 30 square feet of turf, and started shopping for native plant species.
These are not to be found in mere hardware stores like Lowe’s.
No, for these, I must search through the inventory of the Purveyors of Nature, the Merchants of the Wildlands. For these I needed a Native Plant Nursery. Websites were found and perused, plant colors and habitats and water requirements and soils and blooming periods were researched, and finally the Right Plants For My Region And Climate (prairie plants, if you actually wanted to know) were identified and their seeds purchased, and these were duly planted — a blow struck for Mother Earth!!!
What is this? A plant sale at the Conservatory? Still in a green-tinted fever haze, I bought basil, oregano, parsley, and sage. Armed with my trusty gardening tools and frenzied energy, I cleared the tangled jungle of weeds out of the herb box, and planted my herbs. Now I had a realio trulio herb box. In the backyard, I planted a raspberry vine.
I was now a Restorer Of Native Habitats, a Gardener, and an Organic Berry Farmer!
As spring progressed, the plants seemed to be growing especially slow, and thoughts of building a garden path and fountain crept into my mind. Fortunately for our water bills and property values, the flowers finally came in, and suddenly we were drowning in coneflowers and black-eyed Susans. They grew to the height of a short person or a tall child (4 feet, give or take), and were flopping over everywhere. Then the milkweed exploded, as did the butterfly flowers (remember them?) and bee balm (yes, I had those too).
All those decades of education, all those years studying ecology, had finally paid off — For I was He Whose Garden Grows.
My garden thrived, and a rainy Chicagoland summer resulted in rampant growth in the herb box usually seen in bad ideas and soap opera plot twists. I had more herbs than any five or six families would ever need. After supplying friends and family with enough herbs for a decade or so, I developed new and innovative ways to utilize my herbaceous bounty. I used sage in ways for which it was never intended by Nature, and the things I did with basil are not legal in 17 states.
I also had a bountiful harvest of six raspberries.
Winter returned, the plants withered and died, and I rested, content with the year’s display and bounty. Spring would return, and I had Great Plans.
When Spring finally arrived, the gardening tools were broken out, more turf was removed, and more seeds were added. And then more turf and more seeds. As the season progressed, I was both overjoyed and shocked to see how many of the plants were growing and flowering. I greeted the milkweed as an old friend, smiled indulgently as the pushy coneflowers crowded the plot, fighting with the black-eyed Susans for attention, and watched as my prairie thistles towered over the other flowers, intimidating all but the wild bergamot (which is pretty badass). I congratulated the very first guaras and mountain mint plants, and peeked in on the side-oats grama waving hither and fro, red anthers dangling as though it had somehow forgotten that grasses don’t have showy flowers.
They grew, the produced seeds, and, as winter set in, they died. While I was a bit sad, I knew that this was The Circle Of Life. I would see them all again in the spring, and they would, hopefully, bring some buddies too.
My wife was relieved as the seasons turned, since I had become pretty tiresome, waxing all lyrical about my garden (or so she claimed). My child avoided me any time I came indoors after being in the garden for any length of time, having no desire to be subjected to a minute description of the daily activity in that wild tangle of vegetation up in the front of our house. When bringing friends home, she learned to sneak into the house through the alley, rather than subject her unsuspecting friends to Dad Going On About His Prairie Plot. Again.
The back yard did well that year too, but it is boring compared to the great accomplishments of the front yard (seed mixed from Lowe’s? how crass and commonplace). I will, henceforth, only talk about My Favorite Child. I’m That Type Of Bad Parent
Winter came, winter ended, and it was time for Big New Things in My Garden.
I dug out more turf, added a flagstone walkway (or at least that’s what I choose to call it. Professionals may have a different opinion), and planted more plants and seeds. Yes, simply planting seeds is good for beginners, but Serious Gardeners of Native Species buy Naked Root Plants, specially packed and shipped. Yes they are expensive, but cost is unimportant, after all, this is My Garden!! They were delivered, carefully wrapped in peat moss (only the best!), and lovingly packed in padded containers. There were spring beauties and swamp marigolds, irises and beeblossoms, lobelia and obedient plants, plantain and wild ginger, ferns and rose milkweed, bluestem and dropseed.
These plants would not be planted in a scattered and haphazard manner. No, this time I had A Plan. Each plant was placed meticulously and carefully according to their blooming season, size, and color. I waited in anticipation for their carefully choreographed flowering, but they mocked my plan, laughed at my timetable, and came in as they wished, when they wished, and often where they wished. Yet, in my eyes my garden Never Looked Better. People stopped to stare at my garden, with strange expressions and puzzled looks, and I’m certain that it is wonderment and envy. Neighbors complimented by skills with encouraging comments like “that’s… interesting”, and “it’s supposed to look like that, right?” My neighbors are very supportive people. I love them.
It is winter again, and, for next year, I have plans to tear up the rest of the turf, maybe bring in some endangered native animals to set free to establish a population in my garden. I am also looking for some native oaks and maples to plant. I’m trying to figure out how to fit them in my garden, but I’m sure I’ll find a way. There is still a lot of turf remaining, a lot of potential garden as yet unrealized. I have PLANS.
I think that my kid has started college, and I have a vague feeling that my wife is meeting with friends more often than she used to do. I don’t know what they talk about, but I hear fragments of sentences mentioning “intervention” and “legal representation”.
It doesn’t matter, because spring is coming soon, and My Garden awaits…