Pandemic Projects: Backyard Gardening

   In all of the fifteen Junes that I have lived in this house I have never had as much time to offer to gardening as I do this year. The attention that the yard has been given already in this 2020 gardening season is likely more than all prior years combined. Pandemic isolation does have its blessings.

Our garden had been in critical disrepair for three years; the neglect showed in every corner. As we started working on it, we nicknamed the plot RAMSHACKLE GARDEN because everything needed fixing, and fixing things during a pandemic means finding stuff around the yard that can be re-used to make repairs and changes. We found hardware for a new garden gate, but not all of it. When we couldn’t quite make one fitting go together, we shoved a bunch of nails in the edges of the metal strap until it was snug. Done. When we couldn’t get a proper lattice, we made one from fallen trees tied together with twine so the grapes could climb over. Done. When we needed a place for peas and beans to find their way across their bed, we used old curtain rods and zip ties. Done. And of course every broken and rotted-out scrap of wood was screaming to be painted as a clever garden sign. Also done. So, it is a bit ramshackle. And it’s perfect.

Here on day 107 of quarantine, I survey the months of work, the budding wildflowers, the ripening raspberries, the hand-painted garden signs inspired by nonsense and maybe wisdom, and I am at peace.  I sit on a faded lawn couch on a half sawed-off plot of decking that represents a sanctuary to me.  I can drink my tea here. I can watch the birds here. I can admire the handiwork of God here. I can appreciate the kindness of the family members who understood my need to be outside again after three years of house-dwelling and illness. I noticed their willingness to be a part of this emergent time. I noticed when Kevin lugged the heavy half-deck full of rusty nails to position it perfectly with his Dad so that it preserved the mint and iris border garden. I noticed when Casey pulled up giant weed trees that stubbornly held their ground in perennial beds that wanted freedom for their tangled roots. I noticed when Matthew salvaged wood from his old tree fort to build one of the raised beds up so that I wouldn’t need to plop myself all the way to the ground to tend the veggies — getting up being the more difficult part of that plop. I noticed when Corinne sat in the dirt with me as we re-routed a disrupted and partially-buried stone walkway to create a more aesthetically-pleasing garden entrance or when my parents donated baby marigolds, eggshells, and bits of years-old gardening wisdom. And I noticed Tom. He is the one who encourages me every day, the one who works beside me each moment he possibly can. His jobs as garden carpenter, irrigation specialist, nursery delivery guy, sign installer, trellis foreman, vine remover, fence expert and lifter of everything heavy have been invaluable to me. The sweat of my family is in this garden; of course sitting in here makes me smile.

Being able to just paint one sign, to water one plant by myself, to pull one weed is a blessing. Spending this much time outside working from early morning until evening is more than I could’ve hoped for. No one understands this truth more than my family does. When days and weeks of illness shifted into months and years, the value of energy and stamina was highlighted for all of us. My feeling of uselessness, even if counterfeit, lasted for nearly three years, but now healing is increasing to the point of celebratory gardening, and, at a time when I had been unable to mop my own floors, God is sending restoration that is still multiplying. Having the garden back is an outward sign of the abundance God has for me. Productivity is here again. Accomplishments are plentiful. I’m working so hard each day that I’m falling asleep over dinner, and I love that.

But what if the garden turns out to be a failure? It’s a real possibility. The slugs are winning on the strawberry front. Who can blame them for continuing the assault despite our defenses? The yield is 100% sweet redness. They’re perfect. If I were a slug, I’d go for the berry patch, too. And there are other examples of gardening blunders. I forgot to plan the soil that the radishes would like. Birds ate all but one of the sunflower seeds I sowed. And stingy trees threaten to keep the sun from everyone. By autumn I fear that I will have many regrets and should-have-dones. I’m preparing myself for this. What if my plants die?  Will all this work have been a waste of time? And just as I wonder the questions into a whisper, the answer comes.

The handmade sign by the snow peas says GIVE PEAS A CHANCE and reminds me to stop looking to just the harvest, paying closer attention to the peace. The sign over the asparagus bed with it’s tirelessly long wait to collect its bounty says merely PATIENCE giving me the post-it note I need to keep waiting without worry, but with continued expectation of something good. Another sign in the garden, is a caution against pridefulness as I’m stuck humbly recalling embarrassing days of incontinence as it reads, SOMETIMES I WET MY PLANTS. And sometimes I genuinely don’t get it right, or I feel ashamed, or I fail.  Stay humble. Good reminder. My favorite sign is the STAY ON THE PATH sign that is meant to bring a spiritually significant warning not to step the wrong way. God does have a path for us. It’s important to stay on it.  “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.”

So, that’s the answer. When strolling the garden paths illuminated by wisdom, I first repeat the questions: what if the garden brings no harvest? What if I have toiled in it for nothing?

Answer: Nope. It’s definitely been for something. The garden reminds me that working shoulder-to-shoulder with people I love right here at home brings me peace, and that is the best something I’ve had in fifteen Junes.

Please comment below with stories of hidden blessings of pandemic isolation …or gardening tips! Follow me on Instagram for more updates and pictures of Ramshackle Garden, Long Island Wildlife, and the new chickens of #meadeacres @catherinedangelomeade.