Growing a Gardener

Every winter, I scheme and dream and plan and play. I review the previous year's garden and try to figure out what went wrong.  I tweak my design.  I move plants around on my grid.  I keep my fingers crossed that even with the long expanse of north facing growing space, I'll still be able to achieve a gardening Shangri-la.

And every spring, I nervously put sprouts into the earth and cross my fingers that they'll survive.

And every spring, I get anxious and decide to plant double what I should.  In case nothing survives.

And then, I look through my seed box and realize that I have a ton of seeds left over.

And then I start tossing seeds hither and yon.

And then, summer hits.

My garden gets out of control.  My tomatoes try to overthrow the cucumbers.  The squash buries the lemon tree.  The peas and lettuce compete with the grape vines. Radishes and carrots pop up in unexpected places. Everything jumbles and tumbles and breaks free of cages and poles and nets.

It's already happening and it's only the end of June.  In one month, I don't anticipate being able to walk the narrow path of my garden bed.  The tomatoes and zucchini will claim the space as theirs.

I'm already drawing up plans for next year, trying to figure out ways to improve my little garden area.  While I'm at it, I'm trying to improve the gardener as well.

My lesson for next year?  Learn restraint.  Don't be seduced by the sheer number of green bean varieties.  Stick with one or two and perfect those before moving on.

It's no wonder gardening is a lifelong hobby.  By the time one figures out all one needs to know, one is dead.  And yes, my use of the word "one" in this context means that I'm still on a Regency romance novel kick.