So, this year I returned to my garden with renewed determination. I’ve spent the winter months binge-watching gardening videos on YouTube and learning all I can about companion planting and getting inspired by other people's food forests. Raised beds were built, soil and compost bought, seeds ordered. I enjoyed working in my garden way more than I enjoyed doing anything else - even photography.
I learned a bunch of stuff. Like the fact that trees can come on different rootstocks and that affects how tall they'll grow. That different plants like different soil conditions (duh). That some seeds you need to plant on the surface, and others bury in the soil. That some plants need a lot of care and others thrive on a bit of neglect.
Some unexpected stuff: If you leave radish or rocket in the ground and let it "bolt" it turns into a rather tall and pretty flower that butterflies and bees love.
Or: sometimes cool stuff grows even if you didn't plant it. And that if you leave bugs that eat your plants be, eventually other bugs that eat those bugs will also appear, so most things balance themselves out.
And: plants thrive together, not in neat separate rows. My favourite garden bed right now combines bolted radish, self-seeded chamomile, cucumbers (the thing I did plant) and potato that decided to grow from some veg peels I filled the bottom of the bed with. Even through the crazy heatwave: plants shade and support each other, cucumber is using radish to climb instead of the lovely sticks I provided - and it's all spilling out and bees and butterflies are there all day, and it's not traditionally neat and pretty and I love it.
What does it have to do with living a creative life, you ask?
Well I don't know about you but I've been struggling lately with how to continue being an artist, and earn a living through my creativity in these times of collapse. I'm constantly second-guessing myself, convincing myself that what I have to offer isn't needed. Or if needed, it's not remotely enough and will never be enough, no matter how hard I try.
What this year of gardening by experiment and sticking things into the ground and seeing what happens taught me is that it's not true. That every contribution, however small, counts. That everything has it's place in a healthy ecosystem. That I could be the cucumber meant to be eaten, or I could be the bolted radish that supports it and attracts bees so that more cucumbers can grow.
Tending to my garden taught me that I can, indeed, do hard things, even when the scope of work seems enormous and the to-do list never ends. It's teaching me perseverance, and not expecting instant results. It's teaching me that progress is not linear, it's cyclical, just like the life-cycle of plants.
It reminded me how to be a complete dummy beginner again. It's thrilling. Everything is new and exciting, the possibilities are endless and making stupid mistakes is just part of learning to do better.
It’s teaching me to let go and not expect a particular result. Because some things just don’t grow where you want them to (they just need a different spot, more sun, or more shade, or not bordering the fence where your neighbour sprays weedkiller all the freaking time).
Sometimes things don’t grow at all.
It doesn’t mean you stop trying.
It doesn't meant you stop watering the garden and sticking things into the ground.
Antonina x
