I've been gardening now for four years. My first garden was in the summer after we moved into our home. There was already a 4' x 9' space blocked out of the lawn by the previous owner for a small garden. As is typical, I wanted to go big and make all of that side of the yard garden space, but Josh had the good sense to encourage me to see how I like this gardening stuff first. It was a great recommendation. By the end of that September, there was no more lawn to be seen and in its place were eight raised beds, filled and prepped for the following spring.
What I like about my hobby in the garden is that it's the one place where I am most flexible and forgiving with myself. I tend to dive into most things I'm excited about with 100% determination and try to get it right the first time. But with gardening, I have the calming approach of "we'll just see how it goes and change what didn't work this year in next year's attempt." I do love it.
One thing I've learned in my brief foray into gardening so far is that I become very busy in spring. There's a lot of work to be done on the weekends when the weather warms and the sprouts begin to shoot up. As a California transplant who did not move here for the winter weather, I begin to thaw out in spring, but generally don't get the urge to spend all day in chilly March rubbing my hands together to keep warm between shovel dips to turn the soil. However, wait too long to get the garden going in spring and I would miss getting a head start on some of those early crops. So, I've learned from others to prep the garden in fall. I dig it under, mix in our chicken poop, cover the beds with the chopped leaves that we rake up from the giant silver oaks in the front and tuck it in for the season.
This fall was particularly challenging. I didn't want to step foot outside for a few nice weekends in a row because I was still so sad when we returned from California. I knew the weather could turn at any time, but I didn't care. Finally, I saw my way through the gloom and donned my gardening gloves last weekend.
Last Sunday was the first day of pulling out the now crispy dried plants leftover from summertime. This had great significance to me as it meant that the clouds were lifting in my heart and I was beginning to find my passions again. As I looked out on the yard at the end of the day and saw the plants I had nurtured through the hope of that first match with a fake birth mother turned into compost for next year's attempt, I was filled with a strong sense of closure. I couldn't make any headway into preparing the garden for next year without first pulling out this year's. Now that those dead plants were gone, there was room for new growth.
The timing of my rejuvination proved to be very prescient. We had known our profile book was being shown for a few weeks, but in my life of multiple meanings, we did not get matched until after I was able to pull out last year's garden, and all that it represented, as I worked in it last weekend.
As I wait anxiously for time to pass so we can meet A in person next Friday, one of the most salient parts of the metaphor is that when I do pull those plants out, they are not discarded. All of that dried up foliage and those thick stems are clipped to 3" sections of material and mixed into the compost pile. Next year, that pile will be the soil that fills the beds for the subsequent garden. Nothing is lost, just repurposed. This summer's events in our attempt to adopt have done their part to mold the people we are. Nothing was lost from that experience, but it feeds the hope that we have now and the dreams we continue to foster.
