Good-bye to the Garden

Nobody told me how very addictive gardening can be. Sure there were weeks I barely looked at my little garden, and a few times I was remiss in my watering duties (the occasional Seattle rainfall was much appreciated), but the garden was a significant part of my life this summer. I checked for the drooping mint plants that told me I was falling behind in my watering; I practically skipped outside to snip fresh herbs for cooking; and I took the failure of my beet seeds rather personally. I was surprised to discover that the garden owned me as much as I owned it.

It also owned my summer travel plans.

I had wanted to go to the island in Canada this summer, I had it all planned out. I’m living closer than I have in years—not since I was a baby and living on the island. I could leave this morning and, if I were lucky, be on the island for a late lunch (after a border crossing and three ferries, thank you very much). If I took a floatplane I could be there in a few hours. After years of living in California and having a two to three day journey between me and the island this is an amazing and exciting thing. If I reach out I can practically touch it.

But I didn’t go to the island this summer—not at all. You may not have noticed the loss, but let me tell you I did.

It’s not entirely the garden’s fault. There was work and the literary festival and things that required me to be within range of postal service and reliable DSL, but the garden was a part of my decision. If I went away the cilantro I had just planted might die—or worse yet, come up and go to seed before I returned. And who would watch over my radishes that seemed to be pushing themselves out of the ground before my very eyes? When I added up all the pros and cons to my decision, and threw in the garden as well, it just made more sense for me to stay in the city. And summer in Seattle felt almost vacation enough. I only left the city twice all summer long, I didn't need to.



But now it really is time to say goodbye—to the city and to the garden (and to my nieces, though I cannot quite think about that yet).

I found myself pottering around the garden a lot this week, fussing here and there, finally planting some things I’ve been meaning to get to for ages, tidying up. I am sure there are end of season things I should be doing for the soil and such, but the season hasn't quite ended. If I could stay another month I could really see things through. There are still green tomatoes on the vine, only one has turned red. I picked it, even though it is not fully soft, and I am going to take it with me. There are a few raspberries here and there, a lone blueberry or two, some radishes still in the ground; it’s sad to have to leave prematurely.

But mostly I’m pleased with what I have built, small and amateur though it may be. I don’t think of myself as a gardener yet, but there’s a tremendous sense of satisfaction at carving something out of brush and woodchips, of creating a little world that hadn’t been there before. So much of our work these days—or perhaps just my work—doesn't ever result in a tangible product. It's a great feeling to be able to point to something and say, I made that.

There's been forward progress where the raspberry patch is concerned.







I have a place for tomatoes and basil that's a far cry from the brush I found at the beginning of the summer.









And there's a bit of an herb garden as well. If I could have had a motto this summer it would have been: happiness is a garden of fresh herbs. I'm not nearly where I want to be with the herbs, but it's a start.







It might be easier to walk away from a garden at the end of the season, when things are really settling down for winter, but the garden seems to just keep going, still gathering momentum.

The zucchini vine keeps on churning out more blossoms and baby zucchini. In terms of reproduction, zucchini are the rabbits of the garden world. My gosh, guys, aren't you worn out already?



The tomatoes have gone a bit out of control the past few weeks. One of the plants has branched out with three renegade branches that all needed propping up.



On each of the branches there are blossoms for yet more tomatoes.



Silly plant, don’t you know the growing season is nearly over here? Where do you think you are—California?

No. But I will be, soon.

I’m sad to leave my garden behind. It’s serious stuff when they talk about “putting down roots.” I’m not looking forward to the transplant process.

I just hope what they say about it raining all the time in Seattle really is true...

Someone's got to water the garden while I'm gone.



Good-bye, little garden. I'm going to miss you.

For the full garden story:
Part I
Part II
Part III