A Garland of Blossoms

I suppose that at the end of my days, when I look back at all that has transpired, I’ll think little of how much produce I harvested in our tiny garden plot or how I balanced the measured length of climbing vines as they wove their way up wooden trellises. I’ll ponder the incredible journey in all its depth, pausing only to linger over my more treasured memories.

The fondness dear ones have shown throughout the years — that will stick to my bones even after my skin has wrinkled and folded inward. I’ll recognize the steadfast way they arose in celebration when life drummed up success, and their tender pull toward them when darkness descended. I’ll count myself forever lucky. I’ll marvel in all that I managed to cultivate, both in the garden and elsewhere.

But why wait until a life has nearly passed to fully claim the gifts provided along the way? I sit at my kitchen table, cluttered with evidence of work and family (the papers, the wrappers, the half-opened mail), enshrined by filtered light streaming through a back window. The sky is blue, but the air is chilly. A somber pall hovers over everything. I let my mind wonder and smile as I remember how the gardens have anchored so many of my fondest memories: my husband building our first raised garden beds, my youngest abandoning her half eaten watermelon in the soil as she hunts for fresh snap peas, my oldest sitting on the garden fence at sunset (her legs dangling over the edge while she gazes wistfully toward the soft pink sun plummeting from the sky). These are the moments I hope to remember when this life of mine has journeyed as far as it can.

We gardeners who develop our practice not through course work or degrees, but by exploring our yards as large laboratories, where experimenting heightens our awareness of nature’s cycles, giving us gardens replete with hard-fought successes and honest losses — we can be the most ardent in deflecting our found wisdom. I consider myself amongst this group. Always unsure if I am going about gardening the “right” way, I’m too quick to pivot toward experts or those with more pronounced gardening histories than mine. I race toward the known, but lose sight of the personally found.

I marvel upon the wispy beginnings of seedlings, a few adorned with spherical bonnets of water, still believing in the possibility of finding one’s way toward gardening in an intuitive, iterative way. I don’t have to rely on seeds harvested from established companies or expert gardeners. I can collect, germinate, and cultivate entirely on my own… and I can do it best by relying on my own first-hand experiences in the garden. I call it wisdom. I call it agency. I call it mine.

Nearly all my summer seeds have germinated. The cold hardy vegetables like beets, lettuce, and bak choy already sit beneath the thick plastic of the garden’s polytunnel, soaking up radiant daylight and hardening to the cooler spring temperatures. My rosemary, lavender, feverfew are ready for fresh soil. And the flowers? They grow steadily under a host of grow lights in a cool, basement room. Cosmos, zinnias, dahlias, scabiosa, sunflowers, dara ammi, snapdragons, nasturtium, nigella, and on and on.

I finally pulled out the dahlia tubers from their winter hibernation and potted them in sterilized containers filled with damp soil. I have experienced more losses than wins growing dahlias over the years. Still, I consider them a redemption story carved slowly over only twenty-four months of practice.

As it happens when long, bleak, grey days settle in and overstay their welcome, I often find myself perusing seed catalogues, eyeing delicious looking flower blooms. Two years ago I swooned after spotting a particular dahlia mix containing coral, pink, and peach colors. I could not resist, so I bought the tubers, spent time learning how to cultivate them, and then set about planting them in the new cut flower garden. Despite pre-sprouting the tubers, I waited all summer long for a blossom, but never got one. Densely-packed, verdant leaves grew with ambition, but not one flower.

I set aside the tubers and went about mending my semi-broken heart over the one winter months. I felt unfulfilled.

Then, in a moment very similar to the previous year, last spring I again succumbed to beautiful flower photography displayed in a seed catalogue during a stretch of cold weather. The dahlias beckoned me again. But this time, I purchased seeds instead of tubers. Many of last summer’s favorite bouquets included dahlias grown from seed.

I’ve reclaimed my title of dahlia grower and now wear the moniker upon my head like a garland of blossoms.

---

If you want to know more about growing a garden from seed, I recommend Plant, Grow, Harvest, Repeat by Meg Cowden. For great seeds to start your garden journey, check out Johnny Seeds, Seed Savers, Botanical Interest, or Eden Brothers. Every indoor gardener needs a good set of grow lights, like Freelicht’s LED grow lights (60 watt). Don’t skimp on potting soil! Invest in a quality brand like Miracle Grow potting soil (it’s what I use).

Thanks for reading this month’s newsletter. I will see you back at the end of the month.

-Betsy

Know someone who would love reading gardening essays? Please share the Roots & Vines newsletter with them!