Gardening rhythms

Listen to your garden gnome.

Every year, without exception, we amuse ourselves with the idea of putting the vegetable gardens to bed before the weather turns dodgy. In August, it always seems a reasonable and achievable goal. Harvest the bounty. Get some to market. Finish the canning, drying, storing for winter. Then take up all the drip lines, nurture the growing beds, pull weeds, add compost and amendments for the soil, cover it all in burlap. Done and dusted. In September we are still gaily entertaining the possibility that this is achievable. October nudges September over the horizon, the days get shorter and our good intentions look destined to paving the road to hell we keep hearing about. November invariably finds us looking bleakly at the weeds, the bedraggled tomato plants and the vast amount of work still to be done. The skies become grey and heavy, wind slides icy little fingers of chill between multiple layers of clothing and our enthusiasm is as damp as the air around us. Perhaps by December, we mutter…by January…by February. At which point we are already seeding for the coming season. Maybe, we gently toss the idea around, maybe next year.

The last day of summer.

Back when my Mom was in charge of the vegetable gardens, these things were done in a timely fashion. Her work ethic and her dedication to growing organically saw her through all sorts of gardening challenges. A bit of rain, a blast of wind rarely slowed her down. Face weathered, hands gnarled and knowing, clad in a well worn jumper, Mom would crouch between the rows, nipping out offending weeds, squashing the grubs that threatened the salad greens, allowing no safe haven for slugs amongst the pea plants. Her eyes, an intense sky blue, surrounded by a thousand lines of experience, didn’t miss much. She, however, could be easily missed. Hidden by the jaunty sunflowers and the abundant broccoli plants, Mom’s diminutive self would simply disappear. She became one with the garden.

The best way to locate Mom was to listen. She never stopped talking to the plants. They were privy to all sorts of conversations she had with herself about the state of the world, the birds she had seen that morning, the price of stamps. Follow the voice and you would find her on her knees, her hands burrowing through the soil like moles, unearthing cut worms and thistle roots. The plants thrived in her presence.

Looking back, how I wish I had listened more! Mom was constantly dropping gems of garden wisdom and I was foolish enough not to gather them carefully and keep them in my head, write them down, cherish the hard won knowledge that comes with years upon years of experience. Mom was the quintessential garden gnome.

At 81, Mom was still hard at it in the garden. Working more slowly and not lifting huge rocks any more, she carefully tended to her plants, tended to the needs of the soil, and tended to her soul. Aware of her health, having been diagnosed with congestive heart failure, she was determined to live her life under her terms and giving up the garden was not on the agenda.

Mom’s unattested favourite was the glorious tomato. She would murmur over the seed catalogues every winter, caressing the pages that dealt with the nightshade family and carefully selecting the tomatoes that she would grow the coming season. Her choices predominately were of heirloom tomatoes, taste always winning over looks.

As Mom’s illness progressed, it became clear that hospitalization was going to be necessary. She wasn’t keen, not being at all comfortable in such settings and reluctant to be indoors as the early spring weather announced the re-awakening of the garden. Tomatoes were at the top of the list of her concerns.

Just let me get them seeded, then I will go.

It’s been close to ten years since my Mom died. I continue to seed tomatoes on the anniversary of Mom’s last day at home. And invariably, those tiny little seeds push up out of their warm bedding pots on the day of her death. Remarkable, but so was she.

Tomato seedlings almost ready for planting out.

Mom’s gardening boots are impossible to fill, but we continue with our learning curve by sticking to her principle of “grow what you love”. It is a sound place to work from.

In our learning, we have changed some of our habits in putting the garden away for winter. We have begun to consider the impact of our growing practices on our environment. In the past, when summer wound down and the leaves began to turn on the trees, we used to hop on our tiny and very ancient tractor to haul the cultivator over the growing beds. The tractor wheels would dig down into the earth compacting our scant topsoil into the dense clay that lurks below the surface. We would then apply a good layer of compost, fling a cover crop over the whole lot and settle in for winter. Come spring and once the ground was dry enough, the tractor would be coaxed into starting and we would tear into the ground yet again. Sometimes even a third round of tractor trauma would be inflicted upon the garden if we left things too long and weed chaos had taken hold.

It always felt very ‘farmy’ to be rumbling through the garden on the old John Deer. Every bone in the body being shaken by the vibrations of the tractor, the ear defenders dulling out the deafening roar of the smelly engine. Smallish rocks would be flung up by the cultivator, the big ones causing the whole tractor to shudder to a stop as the cultivator blades ground against them, sending an ungodly screeching through the defences of the ear protectors. This usually signalled time for a cup of tea.

Despite our exertions in the vegetable gardens, we seemed to be constantly struggling with keeping the ground viable, supple, supportive of the plants that we were growing. Something needed to change.

On the chance you haven’t met, this is our farm manager. He sits upon the last patch we ever cultivated with machinary.

There had been rumours going about the ‘hood of the ‘no dig’ gardening method. A quick trip to the book shop and No Dig Organic Home and Garden by Charles Dowding and Stephanie Hafferty quickly took pride of place on top of our pile of gardening books. After devouring the contents of this book we found our learning curve, which had somewhat flatlined for a bit, suddenly had a bounce in it again.

It is proving to be a very satisfying way to work. We are already seeing a difference in the soil quality, and our bodies are benefitting greatly from not being worked beyond endurance. Weed load is down, micro-organisms are not being disrupted, water retention and drainage has improved. There is now more time for tea! And for planning next season’s gardens. Our August musings are starting to be realized and I can say with certain confidence that ‘maybe next year’ has arrived this year!

Our garden gnome is still working her magic in the gardens. Whispers of her conversations tend to tap me on my shoulder when I am crawling between the squash plants or staking up the beans. They settle around my heart and squeeze into my head. If, I think, if I just turned my head quickly, I would see her amongst the onions or further down the garden, pulling up the perfect beet. I may not have been listening then, but every fibre of my being is tuned into her residual energy that is still tangible up in the vegetable gardens.

Tomatoes are my favourite thing to grow.

‘Til the next time, kristine