I planted my first garden this year. We had some lovely squash, yummy cherry tomatoes, even some mixed lettuces and a truly awful cucumber. It has been neglected of late and today I finally went out to “put it to bed” for the winter.
Before I actually got down to the task of removing the old stuff it seemed like WORK and I procrastinated forever. But once I got started this morning, the destruction of all the dying plants was cathartic and ironically, constructive.
I found myself plotting out next year’s bed, deciding to have only cherry tomatoes because they were so much easier than the 2 larger ones. And they tasted better! Then it occurred to me I would need to remember which basil plant worked best at repelling the insects (not the Italian variety).
Part of me wants to put in some flowers next year, though I have no idea where to start. I foresee some research through the rainy months ahead.
There’s something elemental about digging in the dirt isn’t there? I’ve heard people talk about gardening being their therapy. I don’t think I’d go that far, but when I wasn’t beating myself up for neglecting it, it did make me feel good.
One night this summer I made JD and I a little salad to go with dinner. I can’t describe the feeling I got when I told him that ALL the ingredients were from our garden! It was as though I’d won something!
I’ve thought about expanding next year and the idea is attractive. But I had my hands full with my little raised bed this time around, so I’ll play it by ear and see what happens.
Either way I am hooked…not on phonics either.