(Scroll down for latest posts...)

Yes, I have Bipolar II, and it is (mostly) well controlled. And anxiety, which is sometimes controlled. This blog is to document my successes and failures as I attempt to maintain a garden despite the above. Here's the pattern:

Spring: "Yea! I planted lots of vegetables that will grow big and yummy! I'm weeding! I'm watering!

Midsummer: I should weed. I should water. I should pick those before they're too big. (Insert anxiety here.)

Late summer: Weeds have eaten my garden, everything is overripe, and I let the stuff rot before I cooked/canned/froze it. I'm a terrible gardener. :( (Insert depression here.)

Despite my challenges, I manage to get a few good tomatoes, zucchini, and yes, pumpkins every year. Why do I torture myself like this? Because for me, this is profound therapy. Feeling earth in my hands, watching things sprout, digging, moving rock, and bathing in the early-morning sun nourish me. Nothing tastes better than a tomato, zucchini, or strawberry that grew despite all my bumbling attempts to kill it. If I can laugh through it, make others laugh, and inspire others, healthy or otherwise, to get out there and grow, then all the better.

Helpful: encouragement, support, shared stories of success or failure, and any and all gardening advice.

Not helpful: medication advice (I have great medical support); "try this great herbal stuff!" (I have a wonderful naturopathic doctor); or "quit complaining and just get over it!" (Believe me, I would if I could.)

Happy reading!

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Garden Fatalities

Our most recent garden fatalities include a watermelon plant, and two morning glory plants that Hubby just planted to grow up the deck beam. The most likely suspects are Puppy and Squirrel. Digging up flowers I can understand; animals have been doing that to satisfy their own needs for ages. But a watermelon seedling? Who eats two-inch tall watermelon leaves?

Today was gorgeous! My yard and garden are looking so beautiful. I was able to get out there at my favorite time--7:30 a.m. The air is cool and damp, the world is quiet and sleepy, and the plants sparkle with dew. Last night's rain left the ground dark and wiggling and the plants tall and sturdy. The yarrow and poppies are close to blooming, and I saw the first bud about to open on a California poppy. All the herbs I planted, as well as the raspberry bush, are an inch taller, and I'm finding things coming up that I didn't plant. (Chamomile volunteers, I think.) It's easy to breathe deeply when the world is so alive.

Now that the planting is finished and the mulch down, there's not much to do except wait, and weed. I pulled a good gallon-bucket worth of weeds today. I changed my mind about the bindweeds--they are the Nietzsche of plants: "That which does not kill us makes us stronger." If you don't pull the full root/rhizome out, they come back the next day, more stubborn than ever. I swear I'll see a 6-inch trail of bindweed that wasn't there yesterday. Too, they may be the most sentient plant I've ever met; they seem to know exactly where to embed themselves in such a way that I can never, ever dig them up, such as under the fence or right next to the stem of a pea plant. At this point, when they can't be dug up, one doesn't really pull bindweed, one harvests it. It occurred to me this morning that if bindweed were edible, I'd have a golden spot in the local food community. Think of the bartering possibilities! "I'll trade one pound of bindweed lettuce for half dozen eggs and a Cherokee tomato."

Little niddling anxieties are starting. I need to harvest another bundle of mint before it flowers (it's huge already), the micro greens are now macro and also need to be harvested before they flower (there may be some agressive greens in there that I don't want to let go to seed), and I need to build (or finagle) a trellis for the clematis against the fence, as the old one is too small and the plant is now falling over. Ugh. Tomorrow! Procrastination scares me because I never know how I'll feel tomorrow, but today is over, and I did what I could.

No comments:

Post a Comment