Birthing a Garden – Part 2

After weeks to backbreaking labor that included hacking clay boulders the size of small cars into pebbles, hauling and digging in tons of leaf mulch and moistening and kneading bags and bags of peat moss into something workable, The Big Dig had left its marks on me.

In fact, I was now habitually admiring the raised, hard calluses on my hands at odd times. Fortunately, the hard labor also resulted in something that reasonably resembled garden soil.

The Early Garden – 2002

Since I had spent what must have amounted to dozens, if not hundreds, of quality hoeing hours ruminating on the new garden, I had a very clear idea of the garden layout—six rectangle beds surrounded by a 3’ border, with mulched pathways.

It was a happy day when I marched outside with a measuring tape, pencil, paper, ball of twine and some stakes. After some basic measuring of dimensions, I realized that our garden wasn’t even close to being the rectangle that I had originally described to our farmer friend with the disking machine. It was more like a trapezoid—a lopsided rectangle.

I realized I had no choice but to even things up with—oh my God—more digging. I did what any sensible woman would do in those circumstances. I cried.

The Early Garden – 2002

I measured, stretched and staked twine and then measured again. I could hear my mother’s voice from my sewing lessons days: “Measure twice, cut once.” (Yes, smy mother made me take sewing lessons—and typing classes. A whole year! Man, can I type.)

The final dimensions would be about 30’ x 40’. It took a whole extra day of digging to even out the lines.

When the digging was finally behind me—at least for now—I headed off to the garden center in Sparky, my 1983 Ford F100 pickup truck, and purchased 30 bags of Virginia Fines wood mulch. It was the happiest work yet to spread the mulch on the paths I had outlined in twine. The result actually started to look like a garden—even if we didn’t yet have any plants.

By the time all this work was done, it was well into the first week of May. I had no seeds started and no idea what would go where in my garden. I did have asparagus crowns, which I dutifully planted along one short border. Another trip in Sparky to the garden center loaded me up with tomatoes, cucumbers, Brussels sprouts, squash, peppers melons, Swiss chard and more. Yet another trip to a local herb farm ensured I had a good supply of herbs and the start of the perennial beds.

Planting was a happy event. But it became clear very quickly that something was missing—a fence.

More trips with Sparky to Lowe’s. Unfortunately, my options were not good. I couldn’t afford the fence of my dreams, so purchased materials for a 4’ green wire fence and a makeshift gate from a section of wire. I spent another weekend pounding 6′ stakes into hard ground and wrestling wire into them with stubborn little clips that only Mr. Rubrik could figure out. It wasn’t magazine material, but it was a start.

We had a bountiful harvest all summer long. Since there was no way we could eat all the vegetables, I would load up my car whenever I ran errands and drop bags of produce off to friends, my son’s teachers, the copy shop lady, the wine shop man. I was a regular Meals on Wheels!

If you read Bumblebee Blog much at all, you probably already know by now that subsequent years meant the installation of the fence of my dreams, a wooden picket fence with arbor gate. I also added raised beds made from 4” x 4” cedar boards and a 5’ wooden garden bench, where I could meditate—or pass out.

In my memory, the garden that first year was the most prolific ever. Everything was beautifully green and luscious. There were no pests. The rain was just right—not too much and not too little. The vegetables all tasted divine and were picture perfect.

If my first crops had failed I’m not sure I could have worked up the psychic energy to try again. Since then, I have come to believe that all new gardeners work under some charm. Initial gardening success is God’s way of ensuring that fledgling gardeners actually come back to give it a go the next year and look forward year after year to exploring what else nature can produce with a little help.

Birthing a garden is not for the faint of heart. But the rewards are indescribable.