#8: anyone can grow
"Thus the world / grows rich, grows wild, and you too, / grow rich, grow sweetly wild, as you too / were born to be.” Mary Oliver
There's a thief in my garden. He comes in the night to pluck strawberries from their stems and chew them in the raised bed, 30 inches high above the ground. Sometimes he waddles through the rows of peppers (jalapeño, Jupiter bell, and Shishito), sniffing at the leaves before turning to inspect the one lonely squash I have left after a thorough ravaging by grubs.
I caught him on camera a few nights ago – a plush raccoon, curious and hungry, stretching up and out so he could climb the bed that I viewed as a fortress for my beans and berries (no rabbit access, and too slippery on the sides for most squirrels). If this animal could chortle with glee after finding the bounty I've worked hard to grow over the past 6 months, he would be chortling.
Gardening is a mysterious endeavor. People trade in seed types and square feet, sun requirements and soil pH, but it's also driven by a hefty dose of intuition and a keen appreciation for beauty. The quantitative and the qualitative.
I started my garden in the spring of 2021 – the first year after my husband and I bought our house – with four Earth Boxes. The following year, I added two raised garden beds: a long, thin box against the kitchen wall, and a square one in the yard. I grew squashes, zucchinis, and cucumbers, tomatoes and basil, sage and chives. I attempted to yield cabbages and spinach, but they were chomped by caterpillars and bolted by the hot sun. I sweated over treatments and ultimately ripped up the plants when they were beyond saving. There's not much time for lamenting: you have to get the next round of seeds going, and use your space while you have it, before summer slips away.
You never know what's going to happen in a garden, and for someone who loves a good plan and thrives on doing them, that can be simultaneously beneficial and frustrating. It's a lesson every time I walk outside in the morning to water the plants, gently remove yellowing leaves, and check carefully for pests. The beds of yesterday have turned over in their sleep, and something new awaits – a freshly ripened tomato, a glistening leaf of chard, an explosive branch of oregano, turned up with pristine white flowers.
Growing up – and well into adulthood – I thought I had no talent for plants and couldn't keep them alive. I joked about it, as many of us do when we're just "no good" at something. Those jokes became part of my personal story, unconsciously – one that needed undoing when I realized I was yearning for a big, beautiful, green space, but worrying whether I was capable enough to bring my vision to life.
It's a curious reflection. Honestly, it changed when I started slowly doing the work: planting stuff, experimenting, trying to figure out what was going well and what wasn't, and why. I began to fill a journal with notes about what I was learning and used that to guide my efforts. This year, we added four more raised beds; next spring, my husband and I plan to add a rain barrel and drip lines, remove the grass, and fill the space with wildflowers and lavender and wavy, tall grasses. We're embracing the wildness of what land can be, and educating ourselves along the way.
Working within these parameters has taught me something: Not only that I can grow things, but that more broadly, I can remove myself from tired old narratives and step more fully into my joy. I can see how I was taught things about myself that weren’t true, and how they took root over the years. I’ve learned how to excise the anecdotes that don’t serve and support me, and flourished further along the way.
Yes, I can grow things. I can grow.
Little bits:
I began offering select prints of my 19 Syllables poems in my shop. Use code ILY15 for 15% off.
Cassie Marketos, author of The Rot on Substack, has published “Compost This Book” and it’s now available for preorder. I’ve learned so much from Cassie, and I encourage anyone interested in the topic of composting or just life in general to read her work.
I’m very much enjoying Anne Helen Petersen’s new-ish endeavor, Garden Study. If you’re interested in exploring green things, this is a good place to start!