I get up and brew a cup of coffee, slide on my slippers and head outside for one last peek at the garden before winter. That garden I’ve been ignoring since August, when hiking kicked up a notch and things ramped up for the school year again. Once again, the garden survived August without me, while I avoided looking at it.
There are weeds galore.
There are plants growing into each other and gaps in the beds.
There are plants that I definitely should have gotten out of pots and into the ground before now.
But there are also signs of life.
The salvia that bloomed again (even if only one or two scraggly blooms). The hydrangeas that have dried into the perfect shade of plum outside the front door. Even the annuals in the planter by the garage look terrible, but are somehow still blooming anyway.
Somewhere between the last blooms of July and the cool mornings of September, I forgot about my garden.
Every spring, I am convinced this will be my year.
The year I finally tend my garden through an entire season and have it looking like a garden Pinterest board. The year nothing dies because I’m paying close attention and keeping the weeds at bay. The year I remember to water everything and all of my plants thrive.
I get excited by those first warm New England days after a long, dark winter.
I start planning new beds, moving things around and heading out to the nursery for more plants. Memories flood back of my parents and grandparents gardening away all summer, and I want that too.
This summer, I moved around salvia and hosta, trimmed back overgrown shrubs, thinned the shasta daisies taking over the front bed and added a few annuals into my garden.
Something about the garden in May and June feels like unlimited possibility. Maybe for me, gardening is partly about the anticipation of what’s to come.
And then August happens.
The heat is relentless, the water ban continues, and the weeds are thriving in my neglect. The garden begins to feel like a second job, and everything else feels more appealing to me than sweating it out in a garden bed pulling weeds.
I’d rather sweat it out on a mountain, so I can have a snack with a view.
I still love my garden. I want her to thrive.
I just stop wanting to garden.
Happens every damn year. I’m predictable like that ;)
But here’s the thing. Losing interest in something isn’t the same as losing your love for it.
Just like life and just like my garden, my interests can have seasons.
Some months I just want to cozy up with a good book in front of a fire and some months I can’t get enough hiking. In spring, I want dirt under my fingernails and a car full of plants from the nursery.
I used to think I should somehow be able to keep all of these things going at once. That if I really cared about something, I would be consistent with it.
But hobbies are supposed to be something we enjoy.
It’s ok to let each of your interests have their moment. It’s easy to treat a changing interest as a lack of discipline and feel a pressure to keep consistent, even with hobbies.
I don’t have to promise myself to do better next summer or make some big plan to overhaul everything. I can just head outside, pull a few weeds, and enjoy whatever is happening in the garden right now.
I can return without making it a big deal.
Some plants thrive without my attention anyway. The perennials keep coming back every year. Flowers bloom when I’m busy doing something else. And the garden continues without my constant involvement. I don’t have to maximize every second and every plant for a hobby to be worth my time.
I don’t need to become a better gardener next year, I can just enjoy being one when I feel like it.
As I’m walking around the garden this October, there is work that needs to be done.
Maybe I’ll get to it, maybe some of it will wait.
Spring will come again regardless, and I’ll be just as enthusiastic as ever about my garden.
I’ll make a new bed, move plants around and repot some old stuff. I’ll convince myself this is finally the year I keep up with everything until fall.
And then August will come around.
And I’ll probably be over it again.
The garden will have another season.
And so will I.
A gardener after my own heart , you tend to them , they do the same in a colourful and loving way.
I (and especially my husband) have the exact same problem... we recently threw away half of our balcony because it died during August, but don't ask me how much money we spent on watering equipment and how many trips to the store that took... 😮💨
Next year again! 😁