My Garden Told Me So

Many years ago my grandmother poked a few radish seeds into my hand and asked me to plant them in the pot on the window sill. I did and I was amazed that near the end of my stay, three cherry red globes ready to be plucked peaked out from under their green tops. Over the years I’ve learned much to do with gardening and all things that grow. I’ve learned soil types, all there is to know about fertilizing, whether to direct sow or start indoors, perennials, annuals, bulbs, biennials, the list goes on. There are many things to learn from books but there is something I have come to learn recently that can not be taught by any literature or publication.

This past spring I went out into my garden as I normally do; determined to rip up every weed in sight and comb the earth smooth, making a nice womb of soil for the seedlings. As I set to work making my way through purple nettle, morning glory shoots, and chickweed, I found a squash sprig, possibly a volunteer (I call them) from the year before. I squinched at it suspiciously, tilting my head and deciding whether or not to rip it from where it grew. Maybe I could move it, replant it in a pot to climb up a trellis elsewhere. ‘No’, I thought. It wants to be here; it chose this spot and there is nothing in it’s way aside from a few beet sprigs and a rosemary which I planted the summer before last. I’ll leave it and see what kind of fruit it will bear.

During this time I had begun my own journey, attempting to put down my own roots. I had moved from my old farm two years prior to a new place, not knowing anyone and while my husband worked long hours, I felt alone. I began crying, feeling hopeless and helpless. I missed my friends and I was confused about my emotions. Going out to my garden helped but it started to feel more like a chore than a part of my soul. I went to my doctor and she told me I was depressed. Depressed? I didn't believe her. I wanted blood work, I wanted answers. I went home and just wanted to rest, I felt like I was underwater. Things didn't look the same from my point of view anymore. Just let me sleep…

Dazed and weary I made my way back to my garden. The little squash sprig had been very busy, it started to lean against the side of the hardware cloth, up and up and up. It was two feet long! I nodded with a smirk of approval, ‘Okay, do your thing, little plant!’ The leaves began to broaden and there were tiny nodes forming where the tendrils would be. Everything else had become neglected in my turmoil though. Slugs were eating everything in sight, weeds were creeping in and the sunflower sprouts were nipped off by a groundhog. The tendrils of depression reached deeper within my being, I started to believe that it belonged there too.

Weeks passed and as I watched this gourd vine grow, I started to realize that maybe this was not what I thought it was. Day in and day out the vine reached out further with more ringlets extending, grasping anything it could until it spilled over the fence to the other side. Buds formed where flowers should be but nothing produced. It was consuming. My depression had become consuming too. Both had become… Invasive.

Determined to straighten this out, I went back to my doctor. I followed her advice and instead of denying or opposing it, I embraced it and faced it head on. And when I came back home and found myself once more in my garden I cut the stalk on that vine. My garden is tended now, my plants are productive and I go on working with a smile. When the vines creep in I square my shoulders resolutely and rip them out. I was in denial, I wanted to believe things that weren't true. I thought it would be easier to wish things away, that they would get better on their own; but in the end I knew I was wrong, because my garden told me so.