Gardens of Hope...

There’s very few things in my life that are more exciting - and more fraught with the potential for financial ruin – than the combination of a cold January evening, a half dozen seed catalogs, and a solid red blend.

Gardens promise hope. And January is when that hope begins to bloom.

Year after year the process is similar. The seed catalogs start flowing in after Christmas. I hold off on decisions, carefully piling them with my gardening magazines. I surf the garden magazines with the loving intent of a new bride. DIY greenhouses! Easy-to-assemble trellises! Thorn-free, low-maintenance roses! Heirloom tomatoes! The possibilities are endless.

my Maine-coast lavender garden in July

I promise myself (and my patient garden-accessory-building husband) that I’ll be circumspect about purchases. From the leisurely safety of my living room couch it’s a promise easy to keep. Deep in my soul I KNOW each tiny seed packet means hours and hours of work. I tuck that data nugget away.

And then, when it comes time to order, promises made are promises broken. I’m enticed by the possibility of what can be. I'm drunk on gherkin cucumbers, ignoring the need for at least 4000 gherkins to support my pickle consumption. We absolutely (!!!) need two kinds of carrots and three types of squash and kohlrabi (because I’ve never grown it) and Thai basil and wart-covered pumpkins. Slender eggplant end up in the cart – even though I hate eggplant – because Theo reminds me that our taste buds continually change. Beautiful Zone 6 plants make this year’s cut (Maine is Zone 5 on a good day) because I convince myself that climate change is expanding the USDA gardening zones. Jack is presented with plans (from Fine Gardening) to build a giant trellis to support that climbing rose, several trellises for beans, six new raised beds (maybe eight?). I remember potato seeds from my favorite Wood Prairie farms. I contemplate the need for deer and bunny fencing on hinges, while I concurrently cruise the humane society website for REAL bunnies because bunny tea is good for my garden (and bunnies are cute…and they need a home and...)

I drink wine. I add another sweater because it’s freezing. I watch the weather forecasts for two feet of snow this weekend. I am awash in possibility.

And then I click order.

Will someone give this guy a job?

My gardening obsession is a surprise to those who don’t know me well, or who only know me with my work-face on. In reality, under that corporate suit, I’m a hippie. I’ve ALWAYS wanted to be a farmer (minus the 4:30 am kick off to milk cows – I firmly believe cows could be convinced to get up at 7:30). And with a small flock of chickens named The Spice Girls and two bee hives and a crazed Australian Cattle dog who needs a herd of something to manage and a small garden and a canning habit that matches my garden habit, we’ve got a very tiny farm that brings me both to the depths of despair (a springtime discovery of an entire bed of dead lavender!) and unbridled joy.

My hubby Jack steadfastly refuses to move to our beloved cottage in Cushing full-time because secretly he knows our 3-acres are PERFECT for donkeys, more chickens, bunnies. It’s PERFECT for an expanded lavender garden. We could grow elderberries and grape vines. WE COULD MAKE OUR OWN WINE! He fully understands that my ongoing comment about getting a leased horse (yes this is totally a thing) is not an idle threat. Pepper Hill Farm is a lovely place that specializes in Icelandic Ponies, and it's only one peninsula up from us.

Admittedly there are worse addictions. There’s plenty of studies that gardeners live longer, happier lives. Because gardens promise hope. They promise the future. They solidify our ability to connect with the earth. Dirt under your fingernails and smeared across your face is a good thing. If you haven’t tried it, try it. Or come try it with me. I have extra bedrooms and about 40 small packets of seeds that need to be planted in May. And when we're done digging we'll sit on the deck and share a good beer and contemplate the hope that’s blooming.