This is an antsy time for gardeners. Where I live, late February and early March usually contain a “false spring” as I’ve heard it called, where the temps go up and the sun comes out, and I’m fooled into believing it’s the beginning of spring. But even just last week right after the weather had reached nice warm days, it snowed…in April.
Usually when a break in the weather happens, I allow myself to plant a tray of seeds, just to give me something to look forward to, but this year, I heard a beautiful line from one of my favorite YouTubers, Roots and Refuge Farm. Jess is a phenomenal gardener and grows some unique and amazing veggies and flowers. In one of her episodes about what she does through the winter, Jess talked about how she lets the coming season woo her and she dreams almost romantically about what her garden will be.
I know a lot of gardeners who spend late winter making plans and sketches and ordering seeds, and some even digging out seed trays and tidying greenhouses. Those are all important steps that need to be taken, however when I heard Jess wax poetic and daydream about her coming garden, I was struck by the idea. So often, I am utilitarian about gardening. What do I need? What worked well last year? What do I need to change for this year? Again, important, and even some questions that get me a little bit excited, but am I in love with my coming garden? Am I dreamily awaiting what it could be? Am I excited about nurturing sprouts, tending transplants, and watching in almost awe over how things grow? Not usually.
How would my garden change if I daydreamed a little bit about it? What would be true if I took a risk and planted something that tickled my fancy and dazzled my eyes and not just what would hold up well? Those things my family needs and likes to eat and will fill jars and jars as I’m canning will always get planted. Changes in plant location and pest control will always be made, but what if right now, while I’m waiting, what if I daydreamed a little and was longing for what it could become?
