The last few years out in the garden have been rough. We’ve been experiencing a drought and with that comes many, many grasshoppers. I’ve had small sink holes open up in my garden from too dry dirt. I’ve had harsh rains, coming in bursts and then not again for days or weeks, spattering seeds out of their little soil homes. I’ve had those damn grasshoppers eat anything that I was feeling proud of, anything that withstood the harsh realities that is now the world.
Right now, my attention has been torn from the screen to my yard as I watch hundreds of black birds swirl around to land on the ground and eat all of the bugs that have plagued this garden for years. I am thankful for them as they munch, having a little feast. Only days before I was ready to spray my yard with every known chemical and then light it on fire just to make sure the grasshoppers would be gone.
Of course, that wouldn’t truly work. At least, not in the long run. If it did, we wouldn’t have pesticide resistant bugs out there ruining the landscape. Also, I’d kill all of the good bugs and birds and animals that I want to hang out in my yard. The ones that make an entire ecosystem and keep everything running, even the annoying ones.
Every year I’ve thought about just scrapping the garden altogether, and not worrying about such a pain in my ass. And, every year it feels like I’m losing a part of myself.
Throughout the years of gardening, I’ve become more attuned to the natural world, feeling the temperature and weather changes as my soil, my plants, and the animals react. Pressure changes have always brought about migraines for me, but now I feel connected to the world around me. I want to add more to my yard, not take things away. I want to feel even more connected every time I walk outside.
So, I’ve begun making my yard a thing of an oasis. I’m focusing on practices that actually help, both my yard, and myself. A pond for waterfowl to come play and splash around. The sound of frogs and toads singing in the night lulls me to sleep, as does the knowledge that these guys love to eat grasshoppers and will be munching away. My stress eases as I know that nature is taking care of me.
Trees, planted, carefully watered, some causing tears when they don’t make it through the winter or the hot summer months, provide shade and a place to play for myself, animals, and my daughter. I feel their giving warmth, yet coolness, in protecting us.
A meadow, trying its best, some parts flourishing, through the harsh conditions that have been dealt, giving beauty when there isn’t much to be found elsewhere. Bright blooms pop out of the dry earth when nothing else will.
I remind myself that this already exists and that animals, and insects flock here. I have two ducks I eagerly await to splash land into my pond every spring, and worry along with them when they lay their eggs, hoping they won’t get eaten by any predators. Geese love to chat in the yard, in the pond, on the roof. Owls screech or hoot in the trees. Hawks take watch, perched on hydro poles or tree tops. It’s all here, but the extras, the veggies and flowers, may need a little tweaking to bring back to the yields and harvests I’m used to. That the world is used to.
Changing my planting habits, reminds me to pivot in life. That, when something doesn’t work out a time or two, maybe it’s time to try something new. And, that’s okay. Plants are more resilient than we give them credit. While they won’t all make it in their normal habitats or planted in the same old ways, they can adapt and change and sprout when you least expect them to.
Mushrooms, those beauties that have made my body feel better, connect the entire world together. We’re only just realizing the greatness that they hold. They’ve yet to enter my garden on a permanent basis, but I can’t wait to welcome them with open arms.
While I’ve been toying with the idea of relaxing in the summer instead of worrying, stressing, and working, it won’t happen. Even as I tell myself, every fall, that I don’t need to plant as much next year, I know come January when I order seeds, I won’t be listening to that voice. I can’t. I can’t let a part of me go so easily, a part of me that grows with nature and the world around us. A part of me that grows every year as my little seeds start to sprout and take form. Because, without a garden, I’ll lose a part of myself.
Juniper and Daisies 