Gathering The Essentials

There is an old Greek saying that goes: “Bean by bean the bag gets full.” This is what I tell myself as I pull together the things I need to start my tiny indoor garden. This last week the starter potting soil arrived as did some more seeds. The grow light is here, and I have even started to look around my home for other things that I can use like the avocado pit now sitting in the glass of water, or cuttings from veggies (I don’t expect to grow carrots in a pot on the table, but the green tops would be nice).  It’s kind of like thinking outside the box that says “gardening do’s and don’ts.” As my new favorite gardening hero, Monty Don, always says: “Don’t be afraid to break the rules when it comes to gardening.” I still have to wait another week or two before I actually start the seedlings until our MIA spring weather finally comes to stay instead of just paying a visit, bringing the temperatures and light that will help even indoor seeds to get a better start in life. As my mom used to say: “all good things come to those who wait.”

Keeping my focus on this project has helped me see things from a whole different perspective. It’s taken me away from the endless grim reports and finger pointing of TV and online news and shifted my mind to making things grow. Not just looking for innovative and creative ways to grow things in a tiny space with very low lighting, but using the same mindset to create how I want to spend the rest of my time outside of gardening.? How do I want to grow the way I live, the way I interact with the world and the people in it, and how can I plant seeds of community involvement, support and change? How can I make a difference with the way I spend my money, use energy, live more sustainably? And what essential things and people do I need to gather to me to make that all happen?

If there is one thing I’ve taken away from all of the successes and failures of learning to garden over the years it is that sometimes the tiniest seed will yield the biggest return. It only takes one that has the strength and courage to push through the soil into the light of day.

And so it is.

In The Beginning ...

Welcome to the beginning of my tiny indoor garden. It doesn't look like much at the moment. I spent most of the other day moving tables around to capture what little light I do get from morning until mid-afternoon when the sun moves to my side of the building. The table is facing the southwest so let's hope it gets the best of what that exposure can give it. The bamboo still has to be moved around to find the perfect position and the decorative items I have sitting there now just for show will also be moved with pots taking their place (Buddha and the Cabbage Patch garden fairy will be close by to keep an eyes on things, have no fear). I also have a grow light on its way from Amazon which should be here this week as will my seeds and a bag of organic potting soil. The seeds I ordered are all herbs including basil. parsley, lavender, lemon balm, mint, and chamomile.

Side note: When I ordered my garden items from Amazon, the original delivery estimate was anywhere from three weeks to a month - even as late as June 2. Within 30 minutes of placing my order, I received an email stating that my delivery dates have been moved up and all of my items, seeds and soil, will be here this week. Obviously lots of people are deciding to grow gardens to provide food for their tables during this unstable time and Amazon has made them essential items. Lucky me!

An important lesson I hope to learn from starting this project is to become more patient and to live in the present moment; in a word, more mindful. I have to be patient when the seeds and soil arrive and not rush to start them without carefully reading the growing needs of each type and making the necessary adjustments. Our seemingly endless grey, cold, rainy days are not conducive to growing indoors by the windows just yet regardless of whether I have a grow light or not. I have learned the hard way from years of staring seedlings indoors that Mother Nature dictates when it's time, not we humans. Margaret Roach, in her book "Backyard Parables" says: Nature is no fool, nor does she suffer them;" Years of gardening successes as well as failures will tell me the perfect day to start them for maximum chance of survival. Beyond that, I want to be able to enjoy each and every moment, from the first seed that goes into the soil, to the daily watering and spritzing, to cheering on the first shoots, and everything in-between until I pick my first leaves. I want to experience each moment, live in each moment, and remember that all things worth waiting for take time and lots of love.

I know this tiny venture will not replace the joy I've received over the years in a huge garden of my own, or even my surprisingly successful container garden of a few years past, but it will help me to keep my focus on what is possible, not on what is happening now, and the fear that comes with it. I can stay informed and up-to-date on what I need to know, but when I need signs of new life and hope for tomorrow, there is no better way than to plant a garden however small. Even a pot of chives on the window sill is a sign that, eventually, nature wins. 

And so it is. 

Plant A Seed And Watch It Grow

"To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow."

Audrey Hepburn

I know so many of you are feeling helpless during this time. I know I am.  Sure, we can donate money, reach out and stay in touch with people virtually and on the phone, and post positive, reassuring thoughts and quotes on Facebook, but there is a part of us deep down inside that needs to "do" something, a physical action that energizes our bodies and minds. Planting seeds is my answer to fulfilling that need.

I've mentioned before that I was thinking about starting some kind of an indoor garden in my tiny space, but all I've done is talk about it. Today I am digging out the little pots I have stashed under the sink in the back to see what I've got and what I need. Not being able to get out, I'll have to rely on family to bring me what I'm missing, namely potting soil and seeds. Who knows? I might even have some seeds stashed under there as well - you never know what I might be holding on to "just in case I need it in the future." I can also get some seeds by saving those I find in fruits, like apples, or the tops of carrots, or even a potato. I may not be able to grown root veggies in a pot. but that doesn't rule out being able to enjoy the green and flowery tops. Anything that grows is a plant worthy of appreciation.

There is something about planting a seed and watching it grow, nurturing it along like a mother hen clucking over her chicks (or an eagle ... my Decorah Eagle mom just welcomed chick #2!). We water, we mist, we help it follow the light and wait with anticipation for those first tiny green shoots to appear. When they do finally poke their little heads through the soil, it's like Christmas morning! We did this! We helped something new come into the world. We were a participant in nature instead of just a bystander. We proved that life goes on no matter what.

I can't think of a better time to start some indoor seeds. Even if you don't have a garden, you can grow something in a container. It can be a butter container, or a cut off milk carton, or an old dish or cup you were going to toss away. All you need is dirt, a seed or a cutting of something, water, light, and hope. You will have hits and misses for sure, just like in life, but eventually something will start growing and then you can officially call yourself a gardener or, as I like to think of it, Mother Nature's Helper ... I should get that printed on a T-shirt!

And so it is. 

A Weed By Any Other Name

"The only difference between a weed and a flower ... is a judgement."

Wayne Dyer

I have always loved this quote by one of the most important teachers in my life. I remember back when I first took up gardening in my mid-40's, I blindly followed what I had seen everyone else do: if something was growing where I didn't want it to grow, it was a weed and I should pull it out. This was especially true of dandelions. I was warned how invasive they were and that they would take over my entire garden if I didn't yank them out by the roots, and to make sure I did it before their yellow heads turned white and fluffy. That was when their seeds would appear and be carried by the wind all over the place to start yet another new generation of weeds.

The more I got into studying gardening, which was about the same time I started really getting in to sustainable living, I came to have a whole new appreciate for dandelions. Every part of the plant was useful, from salads, to stews and soups, and even medicinal teas. The fact that a field of sweet yellow heads popping up surrounded by an ocean of green might be a feast for the eyes was never acknowledged by my fellow gardeners. nor the happiness a small child gets from making a wish and blowing the little white froths into the air. All they were concerned with was the state of their lawns which I have come to believe is a huge waste of land and water ... think of how much food you could grow where that useless carpet now lays? 

Perspective is everything. What something means to you, how it affects you on every level, is the criteria for how you accept it or not. Our current situation certainly feels like a giant field of weeds for sure, but if we dig a little deeper, what benefits might we find? Perhaps a reassessment of how we live, what's truly important vs what we thought was important because society told us it was? Maybe thinking about downsizing or becoming a budding minimalist? Certainly learning the importance of spending less time doing things we feel we have to do and more time doing what brings us joy ... like making a wish and blowing it into the wind? Or spending more quality time with those we love?

I have been giving my living conditions another look to see how I might be able to incorporate some more houseplants in a space that doesn't get direct light and where little furry paws can't play kitty salad bar with them. It might not be the garden of my dreams, but even a tiny green space could grow herbs and plants. Gee, I wonder if you can grow dandelions on purpose?

And so it is. 

And Still She Persists

I'll bet many of us watched those old movies about the end of civilization, either due to a world war that finally went too far or a mystery illness that wiped out the planet, leaving a brave few to create a new world? I have to wonder how many of us took it seriously or just thought it was simply the latest Science Fiction gimmick? As we sit home and try to find some purpose and meaning to what has been going on in the real world, in real time, wondering what kind of a world we'll be left with when all this is over, someone else has already taken the reins. Actually, she had them all along. We were just to wrapped up in ourselves to notice.

The "She" I'm talking about is, of course, Mother Nature, and if you don't think she's been on the job since all this started, take a look at what is going on in countries around the world:

• The skies over China are becoming clear, and the air cleaner, since all of the factories are closed - now the masks they wear are for the virus, not the pollution.
• The waters of Venice are no longer filled with garbage. Now wildlife like swans and fish are swimming happily along the canals.
• All over the world the air quality is improving, trees are in bloom, the robins are back, and the earth is reclaiming its own.

All the press conferences and breast-beating of men in positions of power can't hold a candle to the wisdom and experience of Mother Nature, our Mother Earth, when it comes to knowing what to do, and stepping up to do it without thought to who gets the credit, or how to make it all work. 

There was once an amazing documentary on TV (I think it was Discovery but I could be wrong) called "Life After People." It showed what would happen to the earth if all the people were suddenly gone. What is showed is that after all the man-made atrocities self-destructed, slowly but surely the earth came back. It replanted itself, it reclaimed itself, it reintroduced all the animal species ... and it got on just fine without us. 

As we all sit indoors pondering our future, perhaps instead of trying to think ourselves out of this one, we simply look out of the window and take some notes from the one who has always had the answers if only we'd stopped long enough to notice. Einstein is famous for having said: "You can't solve problems by using the same thinking that created then." Maybe it's time we turned off the thinking and turned on the seeing. 

Rock on, Mother Nature!

And so it is.

Vicarious Gardening

This is Monty Don, known across the pond as "Britain's Gardener" (that's his dog, Nell, on his lap). Monty has become my new favorite person thanks to BritBox and an enforced hibernation due not only to surgical recovery time but now this insane virus that has propelled me into the high risk category. Just when I was on my way to an OK from my doctor to get out and about more, I am now forced to practice radial social distancing a.k.a. not going anywhere but downstairs for the mail and maybe a walk around the parking lot of my complex ... as long as I don't go near anyone coming or going. Enter my new BFF, Monty.

It's been quite a while since I've been able to garden the way I used to. My first and favorite garden, complete with vegetable patch, herbs, bulbs, flowers, shrubs, etc., is a distant memory as is my container garden housed on the enclosed porch of the apartment where I lived for 15 years. Circumstances have landed me in a sweet little studio apartment on the third floor of a walk-up with not even a tiny porch or speck of outdoor space. The exception is my window sills which would be perfect if they were not also the favorite resting place of my sweet cats, one of whom has already claimed any and all plants that live there as either part of her kitty salad bar or a plaything to be dug up and tossed across the room (this is previous experience speaking here). I own only two plants at the moment,  a small bamboo sitting is a big pot in the corner, and something that looks like the top of a pineapple - but isn't - that I rescued about 15 years ago from the desk of a co-worker who was laid off and not inclined to take it with her. To say it has grown on me is an understatement but I can't part with it. I am currently in the process of trying to figure out how I can use the wall for house plants according to space available and the amount of sunlight I get. The quest to play in the dirt continues.

 In the meantime, I happily discovered Monty's TV show on BritBox called "Gardener's World" and have been binge-watching Season 1 (29 episodes) with Season 2 in a holding pattern (32 episodes). He is also appearing on Netflix in three other different gardening shows. Needless to say that while I may not be able to enjoy the flowers of spring outside my home, I can enjoy what I call vicarious gardening. This is the ability to enjoy watching and learning from the pros while collecting ideas for the future. The real trick here is not to let it make me melancholy for the gardens I used to have or could have. Once again, it's all in how you look at it, and Monty makes it fun, informative, and leaves you begging for more. I have to admit I'm developing a bit of a crush on him!

It would be so easy to sit there in front of the tube and let myself get depressed or feel jealous. I have to confess that it did set in for the first episode or two. As I kept coming back each day I started to realize that I was robbing myself of pleasure by behaving like a child who has had her privileges taken away. After all, it's not about how you garden, it's about enjoying the process however you can. It's about learning new things, and coming up with new and innovative ideas that fit your needs. This isn't just true of gardening, but of anything you love to do but haven't been able to for one reason or another. It can either be a negative thing, or a challenge to find a different way to experience the same enjoyment. The amount of energy you use up will be the same either way, so why not make it the best alternative you can come up with, and then congratulate yourself for your creativity and courage. As I've always said, perspective is everything. 

As for me, I am doing a bit of online window shopping in search of wall-mounted plant holders. With summer just around the corner, I have a feeling that a little bit of basil and lavender will do just fine on the wall above my mystery plant ... and no feline will be able to reach it! The quest continues.

And so it is. 

Memories of March

Some of my fondest memories of March take me back a few years to when I was living in the little town of Marathon, about an hour south of Syracuse, in my sweet little apartment on Front Street. Once the weather started warming up, my daily walks along the river turned up something new every day, a hint that spring was, indeed, just around the corner if we could hold on a little longer.

The first was the morning I'd wake up to the sounds of men's voices, the bing, bing, of a hammer on a nail, and metal pails banging around the bed of a truck. I wouldn't even have to open my eyes to know what was going on right outside my window: they were tapping the maple trees. All along the river mighty maple trees stood tall, shading us in the summer, and acting as a wind break in the winter. On that day, the steady drip, drip, drip of the sap would begin it's journey into the pails. Every few days the truck would come around and empty them into a big drum and take it with the others across the river to what we lovingly named "The Sugar Shack." There the sap would be boiled over a roaring fire that was kept burning day and night (the men of the town actually took shifts to make sure the mixture never cooled and the fire was kept going). All over the village the smell of maple syrup was so overpowering that the local diner and restaurants were kept busy each morning with customers who were craving pancakes, waffles, and homemade maple syrup. In a few weeks time, our annual Maple Festival would draw thousands of people from all over the area for a chance to see just how many ways maple syrup could be eaten, from candy and baked goods to roasted meats and veggies. There were hay rides, craft booths, the library book sale, all kinds of food, a Civil War encampment, and generally an all-around fun weekend (needless to say the book sale and the food alone were enough to make me happy). That's my first memory of March in Marathon.

My second memory of March in Marathon was when I would catch that first sight of the pussy willows growing along the river bank. There are those who do not think very highly of pussy willows because they are not indicative of the showy, colorful flowers of spring like daffodils or crocuses. To me they are the first sign that the rest of the spring plantings will be poking their heads through the dirt very soon. I used to cut the branches I could reach without falling in the river and make an arrangement on the bookcase in my writing room so that I could enjoy them every day and as a reminder that, when Mother Nature decided to hit us with just one more snowfall (after all, it is March in upstate New York for heaven's sake), I could look at them and be reminded of what was surely to come soon.

My last memory of March in Marathon also took me along the river. It was the return of the wild life. The geese would swarm in every morning and push the ducks out of the way, the otters would be scampering along the banks, and the beavers would be busily repairing and rebuilding their homes for the sure-to-come spring rains and the rest of the snow melt from up north that would raise the water levels of the river.  Just to watch them at work, each one with his own special job to do, working together like a well trained team, was enough to remind me that the animal world certainly has plenty to teach us mere humans about how to get things done.

It's been quite a while since I walked the river in Marathon or woke to the sound of the pails being hung on the maple trees. I'd lying if I said that I didn't still miss it terribly, but I know that if I want to bring back those sweet memories of March in a small town, all I have to do is find some pussy willows and put them in a vase on the table where I can remember the promises they bring every March even if there are still a few more snowflakes out there before spring can finally arrive.

And so it is.