Yesterday evening as I stood, basket over my arm, surveying the bounty of new garden, I noticed the familiar voice of my Inner Critic squawking in my head.
“All of this is taking too long!” she yammered, as I bent over the strawberry patch sifting through the leaves to pluck any the ones that had turned red - before the chipmunks could get their tiny teeth into them.
My dream of living with a large, prolific garden has finally come true, almost exactly matching the vision. Years ago, I imagined an expansive yard, plenty of room to roam, a place to walk that was peaceful and quiet, plants and flowers to tend to.
Since I moved in with my sweetie last year, onto five acres complete with greenhouses and fruit trees, all I’ve had to do was decide what to plant. And now, I’m living it. All the beautiful food and flowers…. Stepping outside every day to harvest the berries, greens for my lunchtime salads, yummy veggies. Reveling in the beauty, of the blooming flowers, cutting them to bring inside that color and sunshine into each room of my home.
The dream is real. And it’s So. Much. Work.
For the last several months I’ve been laboring to birth my first book into the world. Writing, editing, learning the ropes. That has been my priority. Well sort of. And then there’s the garden. It’s pleasure…. It’s a Divine Manifestation. And it’s a fucking HUGE amount of work.
All those greens must be washed and dried. The berries are tedious to pick, and many of them must also be carefully washed, and sorted for critter bites. The tomatoes must be trellised, the green beans staked, and checked almost every day before they become large and woody. The cucumbers lovingly tended, moved, tied up. And then we must patrol for critters, spray for aphids, cut off mold.
And now in August… So. Much. food!! Way too much for two people. A couple of zucchinis a day — at least — plus some summer squash, green beans, mountains of tomatoes. Lettuce bolting before I can pick it. Basil that screams out, make me into pesto…. But, then — who will eat it all? At least the fig tree is finally winding down. I couldn’t bear to let them go to waste — but luckily my grandkids dug into those overflowing boxes of figs with joy.
A blessing and a curse is too strong a phrase. Blessing, yes. Curse - not quite. And yet - here I am with everything I’ve wished for in the form of fresh, organic produce, the chance to get my hands in the dirt and talk to plants each day, the joy in watching them grow.
And I make it all another reason to beat myself up for not doing enough.
When I’m working on the book, or my business - my inner critic says I should be tending the garden. When I’m pruning, and fertilizing and staking, she says I should be working and the book will never be finished in time.
That inner task master is larger than life and so demanding. There is so much great food here in this garden! We should be preserving all of it - nothing gets composted! So what if we never really learned to can food. Make the time! Do it anyway!
I draw the line here. My one experience with canning was back in my 20s while living in a dark cabin, when I made some jam. After my suburban upbringing, I was excited to try out country life. I can’t remember how the jam came out, but I do remember how stressful it was squinting at the jars in that dark cabin - the light was terrible – stirring jam, boiling jars, and trying to figure out if they actually sealed. And, oh yeah, I was doing this with a couple of 4-year-olds! My daughter and my roommate’s son. I thought it would be so cool for the kids to see how canning was done.
I think it took me a day to recover, and I never got the urge to can anything again. Until now…as I stare at plates and boxes of ripening tomatoes, knowing I’ve tapped out all my friends who might want some. Besides, I don’t want to make the 25-minute drive to town just to cruise around and deliver tomatoes and zucchinis.
But, no. Canning is not on the table. Maybe freezing?
And oh - I always wanted a dog. The unconditional love, the snuggles, someone eagerly waiting when I walk in the door. Now I have two of them…. Along with the guilt of knowing I should be giving them more attention. Each afternoon, Stella, our little Pekinese, starts following me around either with sad puppy dog eyes or a baleful glare. When are we going on our walk?! she telepathically transmits. (Well, my partner and I believe they are saying these things… since we are both quite receptive to what they communicate to us without words.)
One moment I’m melting with gratitude for the bounty I’m experiencing… and then the next I’m worrying and stressing about getting it all done.
So, yes - make those wishes. Create those dreams. Do the visualization. Just know that when they come true, you will still be you. The foibles of your humanity will follow you wherever you go, and your inner critic most definitely won’t magically disappear!
Now, excuse me while I go freeze some raspberries.
Sarah, I feel you! I went through that phase before we had children. Our garden was our only child, needing attention...no screaming for it! My husband came to love gardening because of my obsession for starting everything from seed, indoors in January, in cold Montreal. But did we love it! Our garden was no farm with acres but a city backyard devoted to all manner of vegetables and some fruit. I will never forget the taste of the corn we grew, picking it and throwing it into an already boiling pot of water. It was sweet. No butter was required. I froze my parboiled vegetables and shared the zucchini. It's not so good frozen. Enjoy your bounty and share what you cannot preserve. That became my motto.