When we moved to our first house, now 6 years ago, it was late summer, and all I had time to do was note what was in the garden, and plan for the next season. Well, the only thing that grew in my garden the next year was weeds, as Enormodome was born the following May. As time progressed and Little Round Top came around, I found that I had even less time to devote to my little garden. This past summer was the first time that I actually had more than a few moments to work on things, and with my new-found hobby, I found bliss.
Something about working in the soil just calms me down- seeing the new shoots blossom almost before my eyes is quietly thrilling. I cherish my "alone time", even when it is aimless puttering; I even love the meditative quality of pulling weeds. I don't have a green thumb by nature (no pun intended), and I have killed a great many plants in my time, but I think that I am finally catching on. I used to think that the garden had to be perfect immediately (like so many of my more established neighbors), and I lacked the patience of an experienced gardener. In my haste, I made a great many costly mistakes, and my early lessons were hard earned.