Saturday, May 14, 2011
Remember this? Back in October of last year I cracked each head open, peeled apart the individual cloves, and planted each one deep within a manure-rich soil. Down went a thick bed of hay, and then winter arrived, covering the whole garden with an even thicker blanket of snow that didn't fully melt until a month ago
Guess what happened?
Nature never ceases to impress me with its powerful desire to live and multiply. This drive is particularly evident in spring, when everything is racing to make up for lost time.
Some plants seem to want nothing more than good soil and a little protection. They don't need fussing, and in fact they get a little flustered if they sense that they're putting you out at all. Show them their room and they'll be fine. Don't bother trying to carry their bags for them, they'll wave your hand away with a "Just tuck me in here, love, I don't need anything else." Garlic is like that.
And then you have those dastardly little weeds, poking their heads through the soil, thumbing their noses at you as they take advantage of an earthy meal you prepared for another guest. Freeloaders.
As I welcome another season, I'm already reminded how much of gardening is a constant dance between detachment and attentiveness. You can never know for sure what the outcome will be, you can only do your best, learn from things that go wrong, and know that you gave it your best shot.