(or… “Seasons Whither” – Machine Head is better than Megadeth. Fight me!)
All things change. Things change and not always for the better. I am really beginning to believe that the vegetable garden embraces chaos and grows (or doesn’t) in whatever way it damn well pleases!
In its present state of existence, it’s doing its best (given its caretaker). If it were to be judged by its peers, it’d receive a participation trophy.
However, a few things are hanging on; a few things are pretending to be fine; a few things have fully embraced the art of dramatic decline. I walk out there and think, “Sow far, no good, so what?” That’s become my mantra.
This season really has not gone as planned. Oh, and I planned! Check out my garden plan right here if you don’t believe me.
Every winter I detail out the garden beds with tidy intentions and a hopeful list of vegetables. I believe that obviously, they’ll thrive, because I definitely can give them all the time, energy, and attention they’ll need! [insert eye roll here]
This year life threw back its head and let out a loud, maniacal laugh. It then followed up with a buttload of chaos. Purely for some additional drama, life decided to fart in my general direction.
Did I mention I also believe the weeds have unionized? I swear they’re working in shifts around the clock: morning crew, afternoon crew, night crew. They are all clenching their fists‑full of weeds and rising up like they’re staging a tiny botanical revolution. The weeds are very much here, very much thriving, and very much convinced they own the place.
I know what you’re thinking. It can’t be all that bad, right? Ok, well, you’re right. I just have a hard time finding the Sun behind the clouds. ENOUGH with the doom and gloom! I’ll sprinkle in some positivity…
Around the yard all the native perennials I’ve planted over the years are flourishing. I believe they have a secret connection with the Universe. They’re lush, have grandiose blooms, and are absolutely unfazed by my lack of time, energy, or watering strategy. I’d even call them workhorses. They certainly don’t need me to supervise (unlike those crazy gnomes. I believe at least one of them has been sleeping in my carrots! They’re blaming the neighbor’s cat, but I’m not too sure about that excuse.).
I am excellent at growing herbs! The chamomile is radiant. The basil is acting like it’s auditioning for a cookbook cover. I’ve been able to harvest the cilantro so many times that I’ve just let it go to seed to save for coriander.
Ok, honestly? I’m starting to believe that I should just lean into this. The perennials are outstanding. The herbs are fantastic. The weeds are…enthusiastic. Maybe this is the garden telling me what it wants to be. Maybe next year I’ll plant more perennials and fewer vegetables that require emotional support and constant supervision. Maybe the garden is teaching me that growth doesn’t always need a plan. Sometimes it just needs space. Sometimes it just needs a season that withers and wanders and still manages to bloom yet in a different way.
Here’s to the things that thrived without me. Here’s to the things that tried. Here’s to the weeds who think they’re the center of the Universe. Here’s to the perennials who actually are.
Here’s to a season that hasn’t gone how I expected, but still grew some unexpected joys I believe are worth carrying into the chaos.
