The Aging Gardener

I love gardening because the slow, repetitive nature of its tasks encourages reflection.  And the surround-sound of birds, insects, and relentlessness of weeds pushing themselves up through cracks in driveway and patio are humbling reminders of the limits of human control.  Nature fills the senses, taking away the pressure of ego, freeing us to discover what works.  And what works is definitely different here in my sixties, than it was in my forties.      

    Yesterday, I was weeding a big patch of lilies, and knew not to look beyond the square-foot of soil I'd lifted slightly with my spade-tip.  That was this moment's area of operations, and I knew that looking beyond it would only make me despair at how far I had to go.  In years past, I didn't know better than to survey the whole of any job, usually ending up going back indoors for a cup of coffee or even a nap from the sudden tiredness that overtook me.

    Now I know to wade in fast, isolate a small section, and keep my eyes on the prize.  Starting is everything; once you start, you've got a pattern, and that pattern makes for momentum, staying-power. 

    This way of working in the physical world influences my thinking as well.  Planning to sketch out a few scenes is more conducive to sitting down at the computer than planning to write a book.  Thinking of calling a dean of admissions for a program one of my students is interested in, is more motivating than thinking of finding my student a new career.  And planning to put stray nails and screws in a jar gets me down the cellar stairs faster than resolving to clean the basement.

    Besides breaking things down into parts, this year has brought a new acceptance of things as they are.  A few years back I decided that bloom was beyond me.  So I made a foliage garden, a landscape of texture and subtle shades of red and blue-green leaves that kept up its understated show all spring and summer. 

    But this spring the garden suddenly erupted in a plethora of foxglove seedlings, that must have been latent in the mulch I spread over layers of weed-barrier newspaper I bedded down the garden with last Fall.  For the first time ever, I left the seedlings to grow, rather than weeding them out.  I knew they'd change our garden, interrupt its design, but I was curious.  So I left them in and we got a wonderful crescent of raspberry-colored and white foxgloves curving around one side of the garden.  It was a glorious surprise, one I wouldn't have had in years past, when neatness and preserving established patterns was my focus. 

    Same with dandelions.  I've always fought them, until this year.  This spring I let them grow, bloom, and even go to seed.  I don't know why, but I think I'm just tired.  And old enough to know that it's easier to change myself than fight them.  Now I'm looking for a book on making salads with dandelion greens.  Anyone know one?                               

Comments

[Ann]

Oh, I "get it" about gardening and aging. This year I decided to "only do it as long as it's fun." If I get overheated or just sick of it, I come back inside and take a shower. I've actually made more progress with the veggies (the perennials are still languishing) since I took that oath: "Only do it as long as it's fun." And don't feel defeated by packing up and quitting. That's another one for me. Used to be if I quit before a job was completely finished (and what is, in a garden??), I felt a personal sense of failure. Now it's just more fun to come back to another day. The damned black walnut trees in the perennial beds (planted 3 years ago by squirrels who found my private stock) still aggravate me, though, and every time I take out 10, then 10 more appear!

[Tabor]

Everything tastes better when it is bitesize...and dandelions are best in the early spring, before the summer bitterness sets in.

[notdotdot]

Not looking beyond that which you are working on reminds me of Mother Teresa. Someone asked her once how she could take upon herself all those dying people . . .so many . .never ending. She replied that she wasn't taking care of all those people. . .she was only taking care of the one person in front of her.
And it's a fine thing to let go and let nature be. Not easy but worthy. We come to that too late but then we've all been encouraged to take charge, make things better and improve everything we can get our hands on (whatever that means).
All I know about dandelions is that the young leaves are super in salad though sharp tasting and they are enormously healthy! And if your lawn is free of harmful stuff you can make danelion wine from your harvest.(more work?)

[notdotdot]

A further note: Mayhap "Changing Gardener" is the right term. I can remember many changes I've made throughout the years and I never once thought of those changes as "aging". I just couldn't hack it, I found a better way to do "it", or I just didn't want to any more.

[ML]

Thanks for dandelion advice and other comments. Now I know to be sure to harvest the greens early, before the plants bloom.

[Wally Blue]

When I harvest green beans I never look toward the end of the row yet to be picked. I always look back at territory already covered. It motivates me to keep picking. And, after all the planning and work I do for the garden, it looks like the best thing to grow so far are some cantaloupes that popped up among the peppers. I have no idea where they came from.

[M Sinclair Stevens (Texas)]

Great strategies. I'm just stumbling along in my discovery of some of them myself. I've been feeling very overwhelmed lately so I also tried taking on just small concrete tasks which I can accomplish in a couple of hours. I accomplish so much more when I'm focused rather than run hither and thither all over the garden. I'm easily distracted especially when there seems to be so much to do. But there always is. Once I accepted that I found it easier to limit myself to one thing and just get it done.

Your writing always amazes me. This post is so much better than the average blog post.

[Chancy]

"Yesterday, I was weeding a big patch of lilies, and knew not to look beyond the square-foot of soil I'd lifted slightly with my spade-tip. That was this moment's area of operations, and I knew that looking beyond it would only make me despair at how far I had to go. In years past, I didn't know better than to survey the whole of any job, usually ending up going back indoors for a cup of coffee or even a nap from the sudden tiredness that overtook me.

Now I know to wade in fast, isolate a small section, and keep my eyes on the prize. Starting is everything; once you start, you've got a pattern, and that pattern makes for momentum, staying-power.

This way of working in the physical world influences my thinking as well"

I will try and remember this as I go about my daily life.

Thanks