At the end of every summer, I spend time reflecting about my summer garden. I ask myself:

What were the successes?

The failures?

What did I learn?

How can I do better next year?

Do I want to have a garden again next year?

Lots of things to think about. Life is about reflection for this home gardener. Are there lessons that I can apply from the garden to my life? To the world around me? Especially, when I look out the windows and see the garden evolve from summer to fall. Without reflecting, I am guaranteed to repeat the past. Maybe. More accurately, I am confident that I would repeat the failures of the past but not sure I can repeat the successes. I will explain what I mean.

I am an amateur garden of epic proportions. Science-related concepts such as weather, laws of physics and the natural world are nearly unattainable for me to grasp, and mechanical skills are not one of my natural, God-given talents. Even though I was very lucky to be raised by parents who gardened, both Mother and Father, I was busy doing other things. I took their experience for granted. I occasionally helped them garden, mainly weeding, but it felt more like a chore. Plus, I got the distinct feeling from my Father that the garden was his domain and time to be alone, especially outside which he relished, and to plant the items he chose without comment “from the peanut gallery”, if you know what I mean. Home grown potatoes were treasured because my Father connected these to his Irish heritage, and they added an emotional significance to the garden in my family (along with the Irish poets and poetry that my Father related to). My Mother is still curious about gardening and continues to asks questions about plants and the natural world at age 90. A clue that I missed on how much there is to learn. I assumed gardening was doable and anytime I wanted to participate, it was possible. If I had questions, all that I had to do was ask my parents.

Throughout my early adult years I lived in the city, apartment life. When I finally moved into a house with a backyard, I got to learning about the yard. It is a small yard too – we are not talking acres of land. More like feet. It is a house in the City, surrounded by chain link fence, with a sidewalk up front and an alley in the back. I quickly gained an appreciation for how hard it is to navigate a garden. A million things to think of – no exaggeration. Gardening is much harder than cooking, and actually almost anything else I have ever done because almost everything related to gardening is both in and yet out of one’s control. It is constant problem-solving. What seems to work one year is never a permanent solution. Questions: where to plant, how much sun will there be throughout the day, what is the soil composition (this varies throughout the yard), what critters exist in the neighborhood that I need to plan around, what items in the garden will I actually use or can I give away to friends or neighbors that they would like to receive (super hot peppers are not in this category), how many of one type of vegetable or flower to plant are needed to guarantee my chances of having at least one grow, what can I expect for rainfall, how much is in the family’s budget for the water bill, how far apart should the plants be in the ground, which plants grow best together (e.g. squash, beans and corn) and in what conditions, should I grow from seeds (and if yes that is an entire other set of questions too many to list here). If a friend or colleague gives me seeds or a plant for my garden, I appreciate this immensely. It is a wonderful curve-ball, but an obligation, do I have a spot for this item in the garden where I can count on it to grow because the friend/colleague will surely ask me about it later in the summer. I cannot let them down and say, it did not work with my garden plans this year, how about next year?

I have many friends and colleagues who have much bigger and more ambitious and successful gardens than me. The adage, compare and despair, is true. My friends seem to me to be quick learners, maybe that is the reason their gardens grow. Clearly, they have spatial talents that I do not possess, have read about and watched more YouTube videos on gardening, and have MUCH better soil and watering conditions than me. When they talk about their gardens it does not sound like they experience the fruitless labor, frustration and toil that I experience with my garden. For them, the impression I have is things in their garden are in perfect alignment – they were merely taking a leisurely stroll through their gorgeous spacious yards that resemble an English or French countryside and dropped a few seeds here and there, gently pulled a few weeds to and fro, and lo and behold a few months later are reaping bumper crops of tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchini and basil! Definitely not my experience.

This year, I learned a lesson from my garden that has many applications to my life. It will take me a long time to figure out what the lesson is, exactly. I was bequested two volunteer tomato plants from the universe. They grew in the oddest and most uninhabitable places in my yard. They outdid, by miles, the tomato plants that I ever-so-conscientiously purchased, curated, planted, carefully watered, mulched, clipped leaves, added compost, maintained and tended to. My two volunteer tomato plants (two different types of tomatoes, #yum) grew amongst the concrete, one of them in between the deck and a brick wall! There was nothing planned or intentional from me about them. How the seeds that became these fragile yet incredibly strong plants got lodged and grew so admirably, defiantly, was awe inspiring to me. SUCH gifts. My intentionally-planted store bought tomato plants have long since petered out and withered into brown sticks. Whilst my volunteer plants continue churning out tomatoes and new blossoms, and will do this until the cold weather makes it impossible. It is as if the universe said to me: you will never be as smart as us, WE are the ones in control of nature and therefore how things will go, but we are rewarding you for your efforts. Try again next year. Because without the volunteer plants, I might be tempted to give up on the garden. But they pulled me in, again.

See you this time next year.

Pixie (October 2025)

One of the volunteer tomato plants that keeps on growing. Lucky me!

Stem of tomato plant between the deck and the brick wall.

A glorious tangled web of leaves and tomatoes and blossoms!