The Garden
Just a quick item before we begin. I’ve been listening to the soundtrack to “The Phantom of the Opera” intermittently while writing this, so if my writing at some point suddenly becomes lyrical or melodramatic (more so than usual), you’ll know why.
Whether or not my garden was a success depends entirely on how you choose to look at it. In terms of actual production, it was a flop, and a fantastic one at that. I planted about twenty different types of plants. Five grew: the corn, two pea types, sunflowers, and the zinnia. From these five, production was probably around a tenth of capacity. If that. So I’m looking at around two and a half per cent yield. That’s not enough to break even (and it certainly doesn’t take much to break even on just the price of the seeds vs. the price of the produce).
However, I have never gardened before in my life, nor is it a hobby of any of my family or close associates. I don’t know that I’ve ever grown anything outside of the little science experiment you do in grade school where you germinate a seed in a clear plastic baggie (yay, hydroponics!). In essence, this would be my first experience.
I’m still trying to figure out what it is/was about gardening that intrigued me. Is it my exposure to “old people” as a kid that has caused me to adopt hobbies and mannerisms associated with that generation? I mean, I already love to play bridge and listen to NPR.
I like to joke about that. I guess I do display many traits and preferences that fit more in my grandparents generation than in my own, and I often wonder about that. It doesn’t bother me in the least. Some of the greatest people I have ever known were the kindly old ladies I visited as a kid.
The gardening thing is something I’ve been wanting to try for a while. It’s hard to say why, but I guess it would be that I’ve long wanted the chance to try and grow things. It was not so long ago when the vast majority of the people in the world supported themselves by growing and raising their own food, at least to a degree. It was only by the tilling of the earth that they survived. I wanted to get in touch with these roots on my own (ba-dum kish).
I knew gardening wouldn’t be easy, and that’s another part of the reason I did it. I wanted to accomplish something. I wanted to invest my time into something that wouldn’t pay me back right away. In a sense, I wanted to stretch myself by doing something that would require me to be diligent and dedicated and, most of all, patient.
One of the great things about society today is that so much is available for so very little. It blows me away when I think of the sheer number of things that are provided to me for just an hour or two of work. I can have fruits in the middle of winter, meats and milk that can be stored for days, weeks, even months. I have the luxury of frozen foods, ice cream, even ice cubes. Can you imagine the value refrigeration technology would have had in ancient Egypt?
If I want something, nearly anything, I can usually have it in an hour. Tops. Now with the Internet, I am provided an even larger selection of goods that literally come from all over the world. I can place an order for something in Thailand and within three to five business days, it’s on my front porch. Truly we live in a miraculous age.
Of course, the downside to all this is that so much is available for so very little. If I want anything, anything, I can usually have it within an hour, tops. I can place an order for something in Thailand and within three to five business days, it’s on my front porch. In other words, I am afforded nigh instant gratification and have even come to expect it. The values of patience and dedication are fast fading in this world.
I am not proposing that the technological marvels that have allowed us to produce so much in so short a time be curbed. Far from it. We can now help each other in ways that were not possible just a few short years ago. Knowledge, which is power, is now at the fingertips of nearly everyone. The Internet allows us to connect with people on the other side of the globe, exchange resources, ideas, or commodities. We have an amazingly comfortable and excellent standard of living that previous societies could not even imagine.
The problem is that this makes it easier to forget where I have come from and the extent to which I am abundantly blessed. Now planting a garden is by no means an atonement for the differences in comfort that I enjoy compared with that of others. For starters, this garden is to me a hobby, a leisure activity. To them, it was a neccessity for life. Put in that light, my attempt to understand them better by having a leisure garden almost seems an insult.
So I have spent a lot of time thinking about this whole “Project Eden” thing. In a corny way (ba-dum kish. Don’t worry folks, I’ll be here all night), I have grown with my garden. Please allow me to stumble drunkenly through an extended parable.
When I started, I had nothing put a completely untamed lot in the back yard. While growth back there was prolific, it was all wild grasses, weeds, thistles, and mixed garbage. Underneath this was a thick layer of dead grasses, weeds, thistles, with yet more garbage mixed in. It had no order and its continued growth was entirely dependent on the mercy of the weather. In times of plentiful moisture and sun, it would flourish. In times of drought, scorching heat, or even insect or animal infestation, it would wither.
Then it began to be cultivated. I entered in to the garden and began to mow down the old, scraggly and uncomely growth. Then I began tearing away at the thick layer of dead things from years passed, the garbage and decaying life that was effectively sealed away by the untamed weeds.
There was a lot of resistance in doing this, but it was an easy task compared to what was yet to come. While I had now come to the point where the ground was actually visible, I needed to dig even deeper than just that. The first problem was the top six to eight inches or so. This is where the matted root structure from all the weeds was located. Nothing could ever grow here, it would be choked out. There was also a lot of debris, garbage, rocks, and other retardants that had settled to this level and become imbedded. On top of that, this is where the majority of the dormant weed seeds were located that had fallen from ancient plants. Here they lie waiting for the chance to sprout and grow.
Left unchallenged, these seeds would sprout and within a matter of weeks or months, the entire “field” would once again be overgrown with weeds. The top layer had to be dug up and removed.
This proved to be one of the most challenging parts of the whole process. The easy part was that the roots only went so deep and they were, for the most part, homogenous. Upon getting to the six inch level, they were all but gone with the remainder being located above in a tangled mess.
Even so, they clung to the earth with surprising strength and tenacity. Very strong tools and a great deal of force was required to uproot this section (ba-dum kish. I’m on a roll!) and it took a long time. Progress was slow, but it was lasting. Cutting down the plants earlier (phase 1, if you will) did take a lot of work, but if left for long would soon be completely undone. Here, the roots were removed and would not soon come back. So long as I actually removed a section of weed-sod, it was not going to come back for years.
The labor was intense and uprooting all of these things from the past took time. A lot of time. Then, when they were dug up, they had to be hauled out of my garden and expelled otherwise they would just reintegrate themselves with it, completely nullifying my work.
When I removed them, my garden was very empty. It was once filled with many wild, yet familiar things. There was a sense of emptiness and void with the loss of these things. Many times during the process I would think “This is so much work, perhaps it is not worth the effort to confront and dig up these things. Perhaps I should just leave them to be”.
However, I had already invested a lot of time into this and I did not want to have it be a waste. I also looked forward to the end product and knew I could not attain it if I was unwilling to invest the time and labor necessary to prepare my plot for the growing season.
Removing the topsoil was hard because it did not always clump together as I was led to believe it would. Sometimes it would fall apart and I would have to pick up the pieces that fell on the undersoil. If they were left, they would only sprout again into new weeds. Additionally, this layer was full of water and dead matter so it was heavy. Really heavy.
Once I finally removed the topsoil filled with the roots and seeds of past weeds, I examined the earth underneath it. It was packed and hardened. Having not seen the sun or the elements in years, it had solidified to the point of being clay. Water could not penetrate much and anything planted in this environment would not grow well. It could be done, but if there was going to be much success during the season, more work would yet be needed to prepare this patch.
So I began to dig up this deeper level of soil. This was just as difficult as removing the sod, but for different reasons. There were very few roots here, but rocks and other imperfections were more abundant. Fortunately, previous work done by another had removed most of the rocks, which I would later find, but there were still a few left to be dealt with. With the exception of one spectacularly large and difficult root, the problem lay in the fact that this level of the soil resisted any attempt at penetrating it.
This process was even slower and more difficult than the topsoil part, but doing this loosened up the hardened shell and allowed water to seep through so that plants and their roots could be nourished. However, just turning over the soil wasn’t enough as it still tended to remain in clumps. I had to go with the shovel and break up these clumps manually.
At this point, planting seemed a very attractive plan, but I knew that the years and years of untended weed growth was likely to have drained the soil of some essential nutrients. These would have to be replaced if the plants were to grow and have what they needed. So I took samples from the garden and sent them off to be tested. The upfront price was a little hefty, but the information I got back showed me where some of my weaknesses were, as well as some of my strengths.
The report actually showed that I was better off than I had led myself to believe. The soil was, for the most part, an ideal loam and things were not horribly out of balance. I bought some fertilizer to supplement what was already there and began working it into the soil.
Yay! Now I can plant seeds! Sort of. The time wasn’t right for everything to be planted just yet. It needed to warm a bit for the corn and sunflowers, but the others could be started. This was no easy task, either. Each type of seed needed to be planted at a certain depth and a certain distance away from every other seed. The plantings also needed to be planned out so as to make the most efficient use of the space.
But this was not all! Oh no. Even though the weeds had been removed with the topsoil, some of the seeds and roots still remained in the garden and they sprouted along with the other plants. These had to be dealt with as well and at first, I had a hard time distinguishing the difference between weeds and good plants. I had to wait a little while until I could see which needed to stay and which needed to be uprooted.
Additionally, I had to water and otherwise care for the patch on a daily basis. These were tasks that, if not done regularly, would have dramatic affect. For some reason, not watering didn’t stunt the weed growth but it would stund the other growth. Also, if I didn’t keep on top of the weeds then they would soon choke out the plants I was trying to grow.
But finally, after months of waiting, watering, and weeding (the three W’s of gardening), I was able to harvest: almost nothing. At last I could enjoy…wait, what? Yeah. As I said, nothing much really grew. This would seem to completely negate my entire “parable” since one would logically expect that after the great efforts put in, much would be reaped for reward. It gets more abstract from here (or perhaps finally gets abstract).
While not much was produced, a great deal about what gardening is, how it functions, organization, techniques, and so forth, was learned. While the first attempt did not produce what was desired immediately, it did, in fact, produce. Before it was only a vacant plot filled with weeds and debris. Now it actually grew a variety of plants and proved that it was capable of something more. Where the initial “failure” lacked in measurable produce, it hopefully more than made up in experience and tempered wisdom. The benefit cannot be directly be measured now, but will be made known in future attempts.
So there is my very thinly veiled allegory. While this has already reached an epic length, I have just a little more I would like to discuss. One of the biggest things that lead to the underproduction of my garden was my zeal. Ironically, this is also what kept me going to see it through. Allow me to elaborate.
At first I thought it would be fun to grow a couple of different vegetables to enjoy in the summer. This quickly blossomed (ba-dum kish. Wha ha ha, I so funny) into a lot of different vegetables and flowers and herbs. I knew I didn’t have the experience neccessary to handle this much, but I let my imagination run wild with me. I tried to rush things.
This was apparent not only in my burgeoning supply of plants, but in the fact that I still had to actually prepare the plot from scratch. I bit off more than I could handle. However, rather than scale back the project to something more manageable, or completely scrap it, I figured if I could just try harder that it would still work out.
Unfortunately, I’ve realized that this is not something new. I do this often with projects, class loads, friendships, and personal goals. I get really excited at the prospect of one thing or another and invest a lot of myself in its success. However, if it starts becoming too much or otherwise infeasible, rather than cut it off to an acceptable level or entirely, I keep pursuing it. I lose my sense of perspective.
Some of this is because I sometimes expect near immediate results, hence my commentary on the state of our society. I don’t want to wait or invest time and patience into making something work so I try to make it up with pure emotion and intensity. That doesn’t work (especially with people).
I guess I’m afraid of losing an opportunity due to hesitancy or fear. I have had a lot of experience with this growing up. I was a horrifically shy kid and while I was a genuinely nice and caring person, talking with new people (especially girls) scared the bejeezus out of me. There were a few times when I wanted to ask a girl out on a date (it wasn’t a real pressing need for me), but couldn’t because I was literally paralyzed with fear, and thus lost out on the chance.
So at the end of high school, I promised myself to start living my life so that I wouldn’t have regrets. When I wanted to try something new, I was going to do it even if it seemed weird (I applied this quite strictly with food). If I wanted to go out and make new friends, I wasn’t going to let my fear of rejection stand in my way. If I kind of liked a girl and wanted to get to know her better, I wasn’t going to let my even greater fear of rejection stand in my way and I was going to give it a shot.
I thought this would make it easier, but it didn’t. There were a few times where I was so nervous in going outside my bubble or in asking someone on a date that I about vomitted. I’m serious. This happened to me with one girl I really liked in high school that also went to BYU with me. I asked her on a date and was so nervous and worked up about it that when I finally got to her apartment, I very nonchalantly asked if I could use her restroom because I thought I was going to barf right then and there (this would not help me at all. I’m still proud of myself in how well I was able to handle it, she never noticed).
Later on when I really started to like her, I had the same struggle about what I should do about it. In the end, I realized I would hate myself for not taking the chance. So I asked her on another date (there had been a few in between this as well as a fair amount of time) with the intent of telling her how I felt. I had to ask if I could use her bathroom before going out for the walk since I felt like I was going to barf right then and there (this, again, would not help me at all).
So what’s the point of this? The pendulum has swung too far in the other direction and I end up trying to do everything, and want to have it happen now. There is a delicate balance in life and everything has to be approached with some amount of finesse. Things can be rushed, gardens and people alike.
Of course, I never would have realized any of this without taking the chances that I have in life. They’ve sometimes turned out in ways I didn’t want, take the garden, but I’ve learned valuable lessons from each experience. Hopefully from the successes and failures in each one I can learn how to better approach another aspect of my life or perhaps even the same one at a future time.
Isn’t it amazing the things one can learn from such a simple thing as gardening?