Child watering garden bedsPhoto byFilip UrbanonUnsplash

When I got divorced almost a decade ago, I had one true goal. I wanted to be able to buy a house on my own for my family. I knew there would be challenges in being a single mother, but I was determined to put down roots. It took a lot longer than I thought it would to save up enough to even think of buying a house, but after seven years, I was able to do just that.

Even though my property is only half an acre, I had big plans for that space. I wanted my kids to have the kind of treehouse I’d had as a child. I’d take a storage building and flip it into a truly epic she-shed home gym. I’d plant fruit trees that would remind me of picking cherries, apples, and blackberries on my grandmother’s property growing up. I would make our home a sanctuary.

And I did. It took a while, but I turned every dream into a reality. I planted fruit trees and a garden. In the process of caring for my dreams, I also began collecting inspirational life lessons.

Unseen progress and trusting the timing

I’m mowing my lawn when I pause to take in new blooms in my yard. A morning glory vine wraps itself around a plant stand on the side of my house. I remembered planting morning glories, but I’d assumed the seeds were bad or that the winter frost had killed them. It was a gentle reminder that progress often happens when we can’t see it.

We can plant the seeds, but we can’t force the timing. Sometimes, the progress is happening below the surface with no one to applaud it. It still matters. It still counts.

Choosing curiosity over ignorance

I’m about to pull up a weed in my garden when I pause. It might be something the chickens I’m raising can eat. I take a photo and let my iPhone tell me what plant I have in front of me. It turns out that it’s not a weed at all. It’s chamomile, and when it blooms, I make the most delicious tea from the fresh flowers.

I start taking pictures of all of my weeds before pulling them. Instead of assuming they are invasive and useless, I take the time to learn about what’s growing in my garden. Some are truly weeds that won’t benefit any of us. But others turn out to be a healthy snack for my chickens or a wild herb that can be foraged for salad. Some are beneficial to pollinators and support the ecosystem. I stop assuming, and I start learning. I choose curiosity over the ease of ignorance.

Understanding good companions

When I plant my garden, I opt out of using pesticides. Instead, I look into companion planting. I research plants that act as natural pest repellents and learn what plant pairings are good companions in the garden. Some plants are best separated because they thrive under different conditions and don’t do well together.

The best companion plants support each other but don’t hinder the other’s growth. They complement each other’s strengths and balance each other’s weaknesses. Not every plant is meant to be a companion for every other, and that’s okay. They all have a place and time to shine.

The ripple effect of our choices

When I first move into the house, I am told that the previous owner treated the property for mosquitoes. I love the idea of sitting out on my porch and not being eaten alive, so I continue this service. Until one day, I notice there are no fireflies. I don’t see as many butterflies either. I learn that killing off the mosquitoes means that I kill off the beneficial pollinators as well. Even the smallest action can have enormous consequences.

I decide to stop the mosquito treatment. Before the season is out, I watch fireflies light up the night sky. I notice butterflies, bees, and dragonflies all around my property. I sigh when the mosquitoes bite, but I’ve learned that the small inconvenience is worth it if it means the pollinators are protected.

The silver lining of rainy days

I used to despair of rainy days, especially the consecutive variety. I still don’t like driving in it. But I’ve learned to see the benefits of rainy days. The rain barrel in my garden collects rainwater. I use it to give water to my chickens and to water my plants. It doesn’t go to waste.

I don’t focus on the mud or the grey skies. I don’t wish the rain away. On rainy days, I don’t have to go out and water my garden. Nature takes care of that chore for me. My plants thrive. The sun will inevitably come back out. In the meantime, I enjoy one less chore. It gives me more time to read.

Spent blossoms still matter

I spend a lot of time Googling what chickens can eat. I learn that some of the plants growing in my garden are good for them. But some of them are also good for pollinators. I find the balance. When a blossom is nearing the end of its’ life, I can pick it and feed it to my chickens. They love the geraniums best. More flowers grow, and nothing is wasted.

I think that way more often. Intent on reducing waste, I put garden cuttings in the compost. Leaves. Sticks. Scraps the chickens can’t or won’t eat.Spent blossoms. Even at the end of their lives, the dead and dying flowers contribute to the cycle of growing things. Everything is precious.

Black thumb vs green thumb mythology

I stop telling myself I’m no good at gardening. I start with a seed. I learn what I can. I try to provide it with the right conditions to help it grow. I discovered that all the years of proclaiming I had a “black thumb” were incorrect. I didn’t put the time or energy into gardening and then claimed I was no good at it. But now, I put in the work. Things grow. Do I have a natural “green thumb,” or did I just try harder this time?

I stop telling myself I can’t do things. I try instead. Or I admit that I don’t want to try. Either way, I know that I can learn, but any new interest will require work.

Acknowledging strength and capability

I thought a half-acre property would be easy to manage, but I developed a chronic illness and changed my mind. Until I find the right medication to manage my symptoms, I struggle to do all the mowing, weeding, and edging my property requires. I want it to look nice, but the cycle of my symptoms makes it a challenge.

After my symptoms are managed, I still find it challenging. There’s so much to do. There are many weeds to pull since I won’t spray toxic chemicals to kill them. Everything grows as fast as I can keep it trimmed back. I get overwhelmed.

But I also rise to the challenge. I get stronger. The weedeater no longer feels too heavy to hold. I listen to a favorite playlist while cutting the grass. There is much to do, but I stop telling myself I can’t do it. If it requires more, I have to get stronger. But I also learn to ask for help, assigning smaller tasks to my children so that I can handle the large ones. We figure it out and feel that glow of pride that it’s managed. This is ours, and we can handle it.

Life and the Garden

Of course, there are many more lessons I could share. On timing and life cycles. On honoring all the seasons. On trying and failing and trying again. The garden offers unlimited lessons for anyone paying attention.

And I am. Paying attention, that is. I’m not just growing food for my family. I’m making a positive contribution to the ecosystem. I’m doing my small part in my small corner of the world, and I know it matters.

Originally published on Medium