Last summer, I wrote a column about attempting to transform my weedy backyard into a beautiful garden. This summer, I have a pretty garden bed with more flowers than weeds and plant names like buddleia roll off my tongue.
Here are the four lessons I learned while playing in the dirt.
It Isn’t Always Pretty.
When I first dreamed of gardening, it was about the aesthetic. I pictured myself in cute overalls and a straw hat, with pristine work gloves and a basket of shiny tools.
Reality wasn’t nearly as lovely. My first steps were not creation but destruction. Wearing my oldest clothes, I filled bag after bag with weeds and invasive plants like Tree of Heaven and Creeping Charlie. My neglected iris rhizomes were so fused that I couldn’t pull them apart and had to saw them to pieces like a serial killer.
It was hot and dirty work, but so satisfying. I learned I’d rather attack weeds with my Japanese garden knife than pose elegantly amongst the peonies.
Write it Down
Somehow, I thought my perimenopausal brain would remember everything I planted. This is coming from someone who puts popcorn in the microwave, immediately forgets about it, and is terrified 30 seconds later by the sound of popping kernels.
This summer, I bought a cheap notebook to keep track of everything. I sketched a map of all my plants, and I jotted down milestones–first leaf, first bud–like they are babies. This notebook has quickly become a crucial component of my garden experience, a place to take stock of what’s there and daydream about the future.
This morning, I watched a fuzzy bumblebee disappear into a trumpet-shaped white penstemon flower to gather pollen. It was a thrilling sight, my own contribution to our local ecosystem. I wrote it down in my notebook.
You Don’t Have to Spend a Ton
Browsing through one of our amazing local garden centers, I could easily drop a few thousand dollars on plants, water features, decorative edging, and stately planters. Unfortunately, I also have two kids in college. This means using some imagination instead of my first instinct to throw money at the issue.
Last summer, I learned that if you connect with other gardeners, free plants abound. I traded some of my white irises and red day lilies for daisies and bee balm. I kept an eye on Buy Nothing Belmont and collected discarded lemon balm and coneflower. I divided my catmint and presto, twice as many!
The final product is haphazard, but I like the stories behind each plant. I don’t know if it looks pretty, but it looks alive.
It’s About the Journey
Last summer, I planted a little purple amaranth from the Underwood Greenhouse. Over the next eight weeks, this little seedling grew into a 5-footer with dramatic scarlet plumes. Among my sweet pink and white flowers, it looked like Audrey II from “Little Shop of Horrors.”
This year, little amaranth seedlings are popping up like eccentric relatives. While I don’t want an alien crimson forest, I’m happy to see them. They are a reminder of my own midlife journey, the growth and occasional surprises.
My original goal was to create a nice garden, something I could look at with a feeling of accomplishment and ownership. Garden, though, is both a noun and a verb, showing that constant effort is as important as the final product. The garden is always changing, and so am I.
Jessica Barnard has lived in Belmont since 2010 with her husband and two children. She is an administrator at Harvard University, a writer, and a Town Meeting member. Her website is jessicaclembarnard.com.
