The Joy
of Letting Go
How to Stop Gardening for Perfection
“Where you tend a rose my lad, a thistle cannot grow.”
I didn’t intend for this to be the summer that I let it all go. In fact, it was just the opposite. After our dismal, too warm, and miserably dry winter, I was ready for the green joy of spring and summer – planting and growing and tending as I usually do.
In my planning, I had made some minor adjustments given our water restrictions:
only a basic veggie garden
no annuals from seed
no big garden projects which would require lots of water to establish
But the garden is reaching a maturation point that allows for that, and I was looking forward to a summer of deadheading, fine tuning, and shaping.
I was thinking of this as my Summer of Perfecting – getting the gardens into their red-carpet-ready forms, if you will.
And then one day in April, everything changed.
I was hustling to get ready for guests who were expected imminently. I was climbing the stairs in our home for the 703rd time that day, and something snapped in my knee. The pain was immediate, but not disabling. I took it easy for a few weeks – puttering but not overdoing it. My knee nearly healed and then again one wrong step, and this time I could barely walk.
I have spent the entire summer limping around as a result with doctor’s orders to rest, ice, and keep things elevated. So my dreams of perfection – deadheading and fine-tuning and shaping have flown. And much of the garden has been left to its own devices.
As a result, I have had a lot of time contemplating the question: what happens when you stop gardening for perfection – even if it is by accident?
Looser Connections
Philosophically, I have deliberately chosen to use the word “garden” instead of “yard”. A garden is a verb as well as a noun. A yard is just something removed – it is out there somewhere.
This summer, though, I found that without the verb, the action of “gardening,” my connection to the garden loosened and became slightly untethered. The garden without my tending was more independent. Less mine. Things were happening in the garden that I was not observing until they were much more obvious. Creatures were clearly snacking and nesting in the garden, and I could not name them. I feel less connected to what is happening and who is living in the space.
And I’m not as comfortable with that as I might be.
I like that intimate connection that I have with my plants. That maternal connection. Perhaps this is what it’s like to launch a child after college. I’m not there yet. I don’t know. But I miss the deep ties that I have had with each plant. There is a pruning and a forgetting that’s kind of shocking. I cut a Dahlia the other day and could not remember the name of the variety, because I hadn’t fretted over it for months. It was just doing its own thing.
I’m not ready for my plants to have that kind of independence. An adolescence? Maybe. But this nest is not empty.
Perhaps this looser connection shows up best in my camera roll. Normally my summer photos feature garden shots at all times of day, in every lighting condition, and document blooms and busts alike. This year, my camera roll features far more people than plants. Perhaps that’s a good thing? I’m not sure, honestly!
More Observations
Ironically, while I don’t have as many photographs, I do have some deeper observations – at least from afar. I found myself with more time to sit. To watch. To observe. A lot of this was done, granted, outside on one of the couches with an ice pack on my knee. And often those observations were accompanied by anxiety: spreading weeds that needed plucking, plants that needed to be cut back, and imperfections. So many imperfections.
But those critical voices eventually got a little softer. As the season wore on, and I shifted from the couch to the pool, my critical monologue took on a more appreciative tone. My garden is maturing. And really, this is the first garden I have had that has reached this point. It’s packed with plants. The plants are established. And I was able to see beyond the weeds to the garden as an ecosystem, a system working on its own.
Without me.
Without my intervention.
It just… carried on.
More Weeds
Those imperfections, though – let’s name them: weeds. The biggest stressor for me is the fact that everything has been weedier than normal. And it’s driving me crazy. I have done as much weeding as I can do. I have a little garden stool that I move around, and that has helped significantly. I can’t weed as effectively, however. And we’ve even hired people to come this summer to weed for the first time ever, but that is financially unsustainable.
Now, part of the problem here is that I live next-door to a rental house – no shade here. We have been renters at many points in our lives, but we never assumed responsibility for yard care in a rental. We love the people who live next-door, but they have zero interest in maintaining what is a fairly substantial yard – and the landlords completely neglect it. So at this point in the summer, it is nothing but thistles and bindweed in full bloom.
Do those plants stay in my neighbors’ yard? Absolutely not. They are spreading seeds for miles around. Including into my yard.
So I have an ongoing battle. And not being able to weed means more weeds. That’s just simple gardening math.
Fewer Flowers
With reduced mobility, I have also neglected many of the things that I do all summer long to keep my plants blooming, the biggest of which is deadheading. Of course, deadheading is one of those practices that does not happen in the wild. But in our cultivated gardens, snipping off spent flowers forces plants to flower longer. And I have missed the deadheading window on more than one plant.
However, I am not going to take the blame for all of that. We have had record heat this summer. And just like humans try to conserve their energy during record heat, plants are not stupid. They do the same thing!
So I look around and see lots of my plants that now, as the temperatures have fallen just a little bit and we’ve had a little bit of rain, are beginning to come out of their self-preservation dormancy.
July is usually a time where I have fewer blooms anyway, but this year was extraordinarily bleak. I am glad to see my friends coming back.
Fewer Vegetables
Not only have I had fewer blooms, but I’ve also had fewer veggies. Now this change is largely a result of my own practices this year. I cut back on the number of annual starts that I usually grow. I also cut back on the number of vegetables.
In late April, I lost my entire lettuce crop due to a late freeze. And I didn’t replace it, because my knee was injured.
I do have tomato plants that are beginning to fruit. But that’s really about it. I decided that at least until fall I would let my local farmers raise our produce.
However, with the Cyclospora outbreak, I am really missing lettuce. So I’m going to be scattering some seeds this week to get another crop going. Lettuce is super easy, and as the temperatures are beginning to cool a little bit, it will be less likely to bolt quickly, too.
More Birds
Maybe it’s because I’m not out puttering as often. Maybe it’s because I am sitting on the couch with an ice pack and observing. Or maybe it’s because I have left things untouched that normally would be trimmed up. It also could be because of all of the water that I have established in multiple places around the garden. But this has been the summer of the birds. They have been everywhere. Flocks. Individuals. Familiar species and strangers. It’s been a delight to watch, actually!
More Wildness in the Wildlife Garden
I have not done a blessed thing in the Wildlife Garden for months now. I have forced myself to embrace the wildness.
This is the most difficult part of my garden to manage physically. The slope makes it challenging – – too challenging with an injured knee. The dense planting has kept most, but not all of the bindweed at bay. The flowers have bloomed earlier than most years. It’s been so hot. And I don’t think I will get a second flush from most of them.
I do have a group of Hunt’s Bumblebees whom I have watched over the last few months. They have been a delight! I suspect there is an underground nest in the Wildlife Garden, which is where I see them most often. They seem to travel together – this bumbling little flock. I am madly in love with them!
And while things look a little bit out of control at this part of the year, they usually look a little out of control by this time of year. It will take a few evenings of hard work, and some restraint will be back. I’m sure my neighbors will appreciate that!
But a few nights ago, as we came home after dark, a group of three – possibly four – raccoons crossed the road in front of our car and ambled up into the Wildlife Garden. Every morning, the Lake of Shining Waters – the pond in the Wildlife Garden – is filthy. It’s not algae. It’s mud. So I have long suspected that raccoons have enjoyed a bath. Now I’m fairly certain that is what is happening. Perhaps there are other creatures who are partaking as well. I need some wildlife cameras!
More Relaxation
I’m not sure I have spent this much time sitting or laying about EVER. I’m not sure that’s a good thing. But maybe it’s not that bad, either?
I am generally one of those people who is busy from the first alarm clock until I fall in bed at night. This summer that was not me. And as I slowed myself down, because I literally could not hobble any further, I felt both lazy and more rested.
Maybe there is a happy medium that I can find. I don’t want to be injured like this. And I need more activity. I feel my brain atrophying. And I’m doing far too much scrolling for someone who genuinely hates social media. I have enjoyed summer evenings reading outside. I have enjoyed leisurely games with my teenager. I have enjoyed The Other Bennet Sister and My Brilliant Career.
Perhaps there’s a little more room in my life for these things going forward.
at the close…
My kid went back to school this week. The mornings are a tiny bit cooler now. The sun just slightly lower in the sky. And we are a month away from the Autumnal Equinox. Time slips away when we aren’t watching. But I am watching.
Those changes clearly affect the garden whether I am out there pottering and trimming or not – and I’m finally feeling like I can get out there regularly again. As I work slowly on taming some of the disorder, I am seeing more blooms, more growth. The plants which have been so stressed by extreme heat, wildfire ash, and a lack of rain are beginning to relax.
We have had a little bit of rain. The heat has relented. The nights are cooler. The greens are a bit greener. And the roses are beginning to bloom again. So are the snapdragons. The dahlias are all in bud with a few blooms each day. And fall flowers aren’t so far off.
This will be a fall of recovery. There will be tending, weeding, and cutting back – but not as much taming as usual. Instead, I’ll be mindfully shaping the garden – but allowing much of the wild exuberance of this summer to remain, too.
It wasn’t the Summer of Perfecting that I had planned, but rather it’s been a restful, self-tending summer in many ways, and that is not a bad thing in the least.If you have questions, don't hesitate to ask!
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Happy Gardening!
Angela
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