Gardens

This gorgeous bowl of raspberries - complete with beat-up Ikea spoon - sums up my gardening "philosophy," if you could call it that. These lovelies came from a tiny stick, essentially, gifted to my brother and sister-in-law when they were married. They planted it in our yard because we have full sun and they have full shade. We then proceeded to ignore it for six years.

Much like my dear N, this baby has quadrupled in size and given us an extraordinarily bountiful harvest! It has weathered serious winter snows, chilly springs, stomping toddlers, dry summers when we don't bother to water it, countless numbers of suburban small mammals. The bush is even covered in morning glory - that we think is too pretty to destroy (read: we're too lazy to attempt it). No one tends to its needs and yet it endures and greets us each June with deep red goodness. May all of our plants be as resilient.

Now, I was just chatting up a neighbor who cares for not one, but TWO plots in the brand-new community garden. Don't get me wrong, I smile every time I pass the once-empty lot that is now a thriving, green tract dotted with pinwheels, hand-painted signs and other hippy garden acoutrements. I am happy to see people coming together to improve part of our community and show their commitment to this whole local, home grown movement that has taken off in our part of the country - not least of all at the big white mansion up the road. I see people of varied ages and races getting involved, and it is terrific. I just cannot fathom how they make space in their life for this. The murky mysteries of gardening are myriad...I'm never even clear about the difference between annual and perennial. Other people seem to know what will grow where and when, they know what time of year to dig up their potatoes. They seem to understand that peas need something to climb up and that you have to put mulch down sometimes. Why, and how do you know this? I am always silently wondering.

I imagine that they spent years and years poring over seed catalogs and farmer's almanacs, between baking bread and putting up provisions for the winter. Or maybe they had one of those apron-wearing grandmothers who embraced the knowledge of earthly secrets that were passed down from her grandmother. My grandmothers both worked to provide for their families and to be engaged in the world outside their homes. They had postage-stamp, urban yards and little inclination to work outside. I imagine that connection to the earth was more associated with the kind of labor they were trying to leave behind in the generations that passed before. My grandmothers were 20th century women, in many interesting senses of the term. My life of commuting and working at least 40 hours in a job where I am respected and listened to feels like an extension of them, and it seems right for me most weeks, but in these lazy days of summer I do wish I had more time to dig in the dirt. When I think of my "approach" to gardening and earthly pursuits, I smile at the memory of my Chicago grandmother's huge, overflowing raspberry bush.