Do You Like to Garden? Me Neither.

But could I, could you, could we be gardening bitches, too?

NOT my natural habitat. Don’t be fooled!

This is my audio accompaniment—for you to listen to while gardening, driving, or sipping your morning coffee.

Dear beautiful buds,

Decades ago, I lived in a small apartment two blocks from a sprawling Seattle park. I ran many miles through that park—past enormous red rhododendrons, the Dahlia Garden, cheery tulips and daffodils, rows of red geraniums, and more flowering beauties whose names I never learned.

One day, I told myself, when I upgraded to a home with an outdoor living space, I would become a person who knew the names of those orange flowers and plant them everywhere.

Someday, I was going to be a gardener!

Gardening Attempt #1

Eventually, I bought a condo with a small terrace, and did the reasonable thing: purchased two planters, some plastic quarts of flowers, pansies, bright blue creepers, and pink geraniums—plus a yellow watering can. My mom, a gardener, with whom I share a love for all natural beauty, helped me.

For the first week, I sat outside before work drinking coffee, admiring my pots with their dark fresh soil and bright-colored flowers. I felt so civilized, full of gardening hope, like my own adulthood was blooming (even if a tad late).

I wanted to yell out to the world from my pretty balcony:

“LOOK AT ME ROCKING MY CHARMING BACHELORETTE TERRACE GARDEN!”

A year later, everything was dead and brown. The watering can rusted away in its corner.

A year after that, I removed the planters. It was a relief to be free of looking at my abandoned terrace garden.

The reality holding fast behind the gardening fantasy was this:

I didn’t want to sit on my balcony and admire plants over coffee and meditative thoughts. I wanted to be outside riding my bike for miles with friends, trail running, and swimming in the lake. I preferred taking a stroll through my neighborhood and admiring other people’s gardens.

Gardening attempt #2

And then, at 47, I met a man.

He loved to work in the yard and was also playful and cheeky. Meet Steve.

“Do you like to garden?” Steve asked, a month into our relationship.

“Um,” I searched for a hopeful answer. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Well let’s find out!” He bought me a pair of bright purple and pink gloves, which was not a bad strategy.

Our first spring together, I joined him in his backyard and weeded like a ferocious beast rooting for the last morsel of food on earth. Steve took a few photos as proof.

Nothing gardening-appropriate about this attire.

I limped around for two days afterward. I thought about everyone I’d privately judged for wobbling around Monday mornings after their ferocious weekend gardening.

My gardening lay dormant for years. I did, however, join Steve on many nursery outings, and made my opinions clearly known on the how, why, and where the flowers should be planted. “I’m the creative consultant,” I joked to friends.

Aborted gardening attempts, 2012 - 2024

Steve and I have been married for 10 years now. I have yet to say “Let’s garden today!” or “It will be good to get out there!”

Until last weekend.

Steve and I were strolling our little suburban plot of land, checking out the plant life around our home. I was full of opinions.

“I’ve had it with those invasive weed thingies,” I fumed. “I’m going to get those fuckers out this weekend.”

Steve disappeared into the garage and returned with a new pair of gloves just for me.

“They’re too gorgeous to get dirty,” I said.

“It’s OK, I have a second pair.”

Check these beauties out.

And, surprising both of us, I got to work.

The invasive bastards were all along the side of our house, with very strong roots.

Steve came over to see how I was doing. I told him to “stop talking to me” because I was in the ZONE.

Don’t you think the fanny pack is a real pro touch?

“Don’t worry about pulling them out by their roots, that’s too hard,” Steve had said.

“This is the difference between Steve/men and me/women,” I thought while cramming my fingers into the ground and going after those teeny tiny roots. “One of us likes to get to the root of things; the other is content skimming the surface.”

Two and a half hours later. 

“I’ve never been more proud of you,” Steve said, as I lay in the tub. “I couldn’t be happier,” he beamed.

This past week, we bought a small Ginkgo tree, as well as some grasses and plants whose names I’ve already forgotten.

And NOW I know what it feels like to want to get out there. On a busy weekend, I could feel my body itching to get to work, removing more of those weeds and putting something beautiful into the ground.

Maybe it’s the snazzy gloves?

Maybe some of us are the slowest-growing late bloomers on the planet?

Either way, it’s a fun turn of events.

One thing I suspected about gardening, is this:

I wasn’t going to one day get swept up by the desire to be a gardener. The gardening desire was going to grow by being in conversation with gardening things and getting out there whether I wanted to or not—

which is basically how life works. You know what I mean?

Now you go.

YOUR PROMPT-EXERCISE

• What is something you “always wanted to do” or keep holding on to ONE DAY DOING?

• Write down a short list, or put down that one activity that feels pesky and unrequited. Here are some from my list: gardening, yoga, a better morning routine, evening walks.

• Is there something on that list that you can throw yourself into, I mean do it whether you WANT to or not and see what happens? THEN, if after some time it doesn’t happen, get real with yourself & cross it off the list.

  
  Here’s what I put to bed from my list: yoga. The evening walks happened this year. Morning routine, on the fence, but not one of those ferocious four-step programs, more like a little two-step that drops me into a creative day.

If you have some fun stories or ideas to share about Bringing those ONE-DAY activities to life, tell us in comments.

You’re beautiful. xo