This past weekend was one of those rare warm winter days nature sprinkles into the dark dreariness of winter to keep those of us with SAD hanging on. I spent the day cleaning up the garden messes I’d abandoned in the late fall and there was something comforting about it.
I must confess my long-held lust for gardening went into hibernation this past summer. I had so much going on in my personal life, I just didn’t need one more thing that I couldn’t control. And I don’t care what you green-thumbs out there say, gardening has never been something I felt in control of. Nature has a mind of its own and there are just too many variables involved in growing things to always get it right. I was fond of saying that a 50% success rate was all I needed to be happy in the garden. Sometimes the tomatoes were wonderful. Sometimes it was the eggplants. But there were always those impulse purchased chamomile seeds that didn’t come up or those transplanted pepper plants that refused to be coaxed into producing. Hey! I don’t care, as long as I have some corner of the garden I can point to and say, “But, this one turned out great!” I kept my expectations pretty low and I was normally happy with my gardening experience.
Then last year, my enthusiasm fizzled. I sort of gave up. I just didn’t have the energy anymore. I had so many other projects to tackle. The garden and its constant needs (Water me! Prune me! Pick me! Water me some more! Weed me! Water me again!) just became too much. I felt it happening, and it kinda made me sad, but I just couldn’t deal.