Creekside Garden

It may seem inappropriate to name my blog “Creekside Garden” because I am not a professional gardener. I do not have the wisdom or experience to teach others or even offer sound advice. My first garden is an unassuming tiny patch of soil in the yard of our rental home. Yet, in my clumsy attempts there is beauty to behold.

There is something to celebrate in beginnings. Blank canvas begs to be painted into a masterpiece, blank journals sit in anticipation of hopes, dreams, thoughts, memories, and tear stains. Dreams of what could be linger in the aftertaste of mistakes. This is true in gardening, marriage, cooking, and anything else we start as a beginner. Those dreams, like castles in the sky, give me fire to keep going. I know, someday, there will be a last garden. Hopefully many many gardens away, but I hope that my last garden will fulfill the hopes and dreams seeded by the fruits of my first garden.

Spring of 2023 I sat and pondered how I wanted to start. Such an awkward place to be. The hardest part is turning over that first shovel full of dirt.

I did not have access to rototiller (or really like the idea of tearing up virgin soil with a machine). I did not plan well enough to do a no-till garden. So I thought back to how a woman might of started a garden 150 years ago. She most likely used a shovel.

I began to dig.

The garden’s first touch on my life was healing. My postpartum mind released emotions and thoughts through that physical labor. Sweat dripped in the rays of the setting sun, pent up hormones were escaping. My body felt different from how it was before pregnancy, but I felt hope that it could once again be strong.

Ben held Caleb and watched me. He offered to help, but I craved the movement and exertion. I needed to be the one changing something and not always the one feeling change.

Blistered hands, sore body, and peace pulsing in my chest. My first garden was born.

That sorry little piece of our yard was definitely a rough draft. The next few days I spent removing sod, breaking up clods by hand, raking the rich black soil smooth. Barefoot, sun on my face, and dirt under my fingernails – happiness is not complicated.

I planted 1 row of basil, 3 zucchini, and 4 tomatoes.

Anti-climatic, I know.

The tomatoes I trellised with sticks from the pasture by our house and tied up the vines with bits of a shoe lace. I laid cardboard down as weed fabric. Simple. Effective.

Our summer was one of rainiest I can remember. Cold and wet, the plants endured. Even surviving through some hail. July finally arrived and brought sunshine and hot days, things finally stared to grow.

Today the garden is in it’s jungle phase. The tomatoes have completely outgrown the pitiful sticks I used. Zucchini plants are pumping out fruit daily. The basil grew really patchy, but I use it to cook with every chance I get.

Around our humble little house I had also planted zinnias, sunflowers, and cosmos. Just this last week they began to bloom, a sight that makes me so happy.

Garden #1, humble as you are, I am so thankful for you.