Manifesting Hope

Another year, another garden

There’s something about getting my hands in the garden soil that makes me happy. I don’t remember when I started gardening - I’ve helped my parents in the garden since I can remember - but it’s something I intend to do as long as I can. Not always because I can grow food, although that is definitely part of it, but because of the hope and joy I get from it. Not everyone does. I understand. There are things I grit my teeth and do, and to all appearance others get a thrill when they do them. I may not understand why, but I do understand we’re all different.

Last year, the garden died. Even the trees and shrubs I’d invested in died. It was a long, hot, dry summer here in North Texas, it was my first year trying to seriously garden in this climate, and it was a year even people native to the area struggled with. I didn’t have irrigation set up, and there was a crisis in the middle of the summer that demoralized me well into winter. So even the fall plans I had were set aside, waiting on it to cool and rain… which never really happened.

A handful of flower seeds

Here I am, then, at the end of January, looking at the extended forecast for weather that will be 60-70 in the day, and high thirties at night. Last year I planted sugar snap peas on the fourth of February and successfully harvested them. This year I put in the first round on Jan 31 and anticipate the same good results. We like sugar peas, so I will plant another batch in a week, then likely one more the week after that. I also sowed out spinach, lettuce, carrots, radishes, turnips, parsley, cress, beets, and violas. Most of those will be fine even if it frosts (which it will. Last frost date is about two months in my future) if I cover them. I have floating row cover, and have hoop poles coming to be able to use it for cold nights and even leave it on for days that aren’t going to get warm or to keep snow off young plants.

I planted out onions (a couple are visible in the upper left above) this last weekend. I don’t know what will come of what I planted today. I can plan, and I can make shrewd guesses about the weather and my ability to cope. But really, it’s about hope. I have hope for the future, so I shall take seeds and push them into the soil, then cover them carefully. In a week, perhaps, I’ll see tiny green shoots emerging. In a month, perhaps, I will begin to harvest lettuce and other greens. In a couple of months, I’ll be harvesting more and more, perhaps enough to share with friends as we won’t be able to eat it all.

My garden is an embodiment of hope for me every year. That there will be a future, and the sun will keep rising as the world whirls through space around it. That I will be able to enjoy the fruits of my labor. I have hope. I am undaunted by the failures of the year before, I have learned and improved. Or perhaps just trying it again to see if the weather is better this time.

I’d forgotten about planting the rosemary visible in the upper right of this bed. It’s healthy and growing!

I’m working up the fabric beds (two 150 gallon, two 100 gallon) again this year. I’ll put the early crops in them. I have four 8x4x1’ beds ordered, which I will fill (now, that will be a workout!) and plant later crops in. Most of the backyard will be garden at that point. All of it will be, in a year or three. Why not? We haven’t a dog any longer to need a bathroom lawn. We don’t do anything with a grassy space other than mow it and mutter at it when it needs to be mowed yet again. We enjoy fruits and vegetables. And there is the front yard if we want to look at grass. Although, I have plans for that, too!

Weeding, I collect the green stuff to give to the chickens. They don’t have access to green in their run, but it will be good for them to have henbit and dandelions and bitter cress. They make happy noises when I dump a bin of weeds and I appreciate them turning it into manure for me to compost later on.

Whatever comes of it, I have been out in the sunshine digging in the dirt, and I am happy. I endured winter - so much easier here in Texas than it was in New England or even Ohio, let alone Alaska - and I am rewarded by the promise of gardening. In this case, while the end results may be edible, the sweetest moment is this one, where I am finally able to work outdoors and soak up the warmth of the sun.

I’ve got flats of things starting indoors, which won’t be able to plant out for 6-8 weeks yet. Hope! Hidden under a fine brown blanket of potting soil. Tomatoes, and watermelons, and peppers and all manner of flowers and herbs. Soon, I’ll piece together my irrigation system, not that I’ll need it just yet, but so I am not caught out later in the year when the rains stop.

More roots, down into the land I stand on. Mine, and my plants, and every passing day I am more at home. Security, stability, and safety. I hoped, for long bitter years in the dark valley, and now, here, I am in the sunshine putting down roots.