Lessons from My First Garden

Once the cold winds blew the crispy, sienna stalks of dill, making a rattling sound as the empty pods rubbed together, I knew I should have gathered those seeds for next season much earlier. It’s sad to admit when summer is over. Even when summer still held on, when the last of the cucumbers turned bitter from drought and unripened melons stood out in contrast from the yellowing leaves of their mother plants, I knew my growing season was over.

My first year of growing my own garden was a humbling experience, punctuated by rare moments of grace.

It all started when I got seedlings and seed packets from the university extension office to start my “giving garden” for fruits and vegetables on May 8. I enjoy fresh vegetables and like knowing where they come from. I like flowers, too. I accepted these tender plants hoping that at best I’d produce lots of flowers and vegetables to share. At worst, I hoped, I would have learned something.

I had to wait until I figured out a place to put them. (I didn’t have any beds prepared. Finally, I cleared off a small dead hedge I’d started with sod chunks and twigs and branches from our trees. It was a trapezoidal shape about 6 feet long and three feet wide. I used it for the vegetables. For the flowers, I dumped potting soil along a fence on either side of a gate.

I planted the seedlings and vegetables on May 18 and the flower beds on May 19, despite the a strong cold wind. My garden journal entries exude hope and optimism, with an entry on May 23 celebrating “Everything is still alive.”

My May 24 entry took a turn when I started to learn that the rabbits eat almost anything young and tender. The devastating news “All seedlings have been devoured” was countered with the hopeful entry “The planters have sprouts!”

While the four tomato seedlings, two jalapeño pepper seedlings and the bell pepper seedlings didn’t last a week, the cornflower, zinnia, sunflower, calendula, cucumber and dill sprouts came up just fine. Sadly, not even the planter boxes were safe from marauders. The rabbits ate everything in the planters but missed a few sprout in the beds. Just in time, I protected some shoots effectively with wire cages and some with ground up cayenne pepper.

Watering plants by carrying buckets of water to the garden site gets old as the plants grow. Watering a seedling is easy compared to watering a big, thirsty plant.

For me gardening was not a solo project. Soon after I planted (and lost 90% of my efforts), I welcomed a housemate. JJ was a great asset and helped weed and water and, in fact, did 80% of the work.

As part of the giving garden, I committed to give away half or what I grew and to log each time I gave someone food. I was very excited when we harvest our first vegetable: a cucumber. I even commemorated with a photo. I kept all the honeydew melons we grow. Luckily, a volunteer popped up. Otherwise, I shared very small bouquets of zinnias, marigolds and cosmos and some cucumbers.

I learned that cucumbers turn bitter in drought or under stress. The later one we harvested were not pleasant to eat.

I optimistically kept some seeds from almost all the plants we grew – cucumber, honeydew, tomatoes, cilantro (from a live plant we got at the supermarket), calendula, zinnias, and cosmos. I was hoping to find a seed exchange someday. Thanks to the rabbits, I had only a small variety of seeds to share.

To share the seeds, I needed seed packets. In late fall, I went to our Thursday night stitching sessions at the Cullom Library one night with a big collection of paper bags. I cut them into 6” squares and made 60 or more seed packets. (I interpret “stitching” loosely.) Later, back at home I put thirty honey dew melon seeds into into twenty packs. Into another twenty, I put thirty cucumber seeds each. I had 30 packets left for seeds-to-be.

Much to my delight, I found a well-established seed exchange only 60 miles away in January, at Solis Gratia Farm in Urbana, Illinois. My housemate co-gardener and I took our bounty and looked for seeds we wanted. My plans and hopes are so much bigger than my abilities! This year’s growing season will surely be filled with lessons, too. I was more than a little gratified that my upcycled seed packets were well regarded. I was very pleased people took my packets and I found fun things like radishes, beets, joe pye plant, big blue stem, and butterfly weed.

The potting soil from the formerly raided planters will go for winter sowing bins for native plants I’ll try to grow next year. It isn’t bad for growing cat grass, either. Rabbit fencing is at the top of my list to install soon. I have cardboard set aside for a no-till, much larger garden. I found a local vendor of “organic compost.” If my calculations are correct, I can use the 12 cubic yards quite handily.

Now, it’s just down to doing the work to prepare my beds, do my winter sowing, start my seedlings, hope my housemate will help next year, and pray for rain. The drought in Central Illinois is not easing.

I’m glad I kept a journal through late spring. I sketched the seedlings and the seeds. I researched what the sprouts would look like and I sketched those, too, so that I would know what greenery bursting forth was what I’d planted. I’ve learned that there is no “off season” with gardening.

The work doesn’t end in winter, it changes.

As far as writing goes, I’ve been in a dormant season. I am looking to the model of “learn one; do one; teach one” to lead me back to posting more on my blog. As far as gardening goes, I’m still very much a student, but maybe someone thinking about growing something will read this and feel less intimidated. Seeds want to grow, and sometimes they just need a bit of opportunity.