As a new gardening season begins, I like to put into practice those things I've learned from years past. The last couple of years have taught me this:
Things happen in their own time.
In spite of what we read in books and seed catalogs about when to plant, and what Zone we live in, and what kind of weather we have, plants have an amazing ability to take care of themselves. It makes sense. They were doing it long before gardeners came along.

Two years ago we had a very cool and wet Spring and Summer. I remember worrying a lot about how late things sprouted, and how slow they grew, and how far behind the garden was compared to a "normal" year. Last year we had a lovely growing season. An early, warm Spring with ample rainfall, and a Summer with lots of sunshine but never intensely hot. But even though the two seasons were drastically different, the effect on the garden was not disparate. Things may have lagged behind a little the one year, and it was not a good year for cucumbers and basil, but the lettuce and the peas lasted longer, and I enjoyed my roses in July rather than June, and the potatoes grew well, blissfully oblivious to the fact that the sky was gray rather than blue. All my fretting had been for nothing. Come Fall, everything was as it should have been. The cycle was complete. Mother Nature had closed the circle.
And I've come to realize, She always does. Why worry?

This year we are officially in the middle of a drought. We are way behind in rainfall and the snowpack in the mountains is less than it should be and reservoirs are below normal. We are being warned of possible watering restrictions come Summer. That's something gardeners do not like hearing. But I am choosing not to worry about it. I may indeed lose a few plants and I'm prepared for that possibility, but I doubt the number will be great. And the plants that do survive will ultimately be stronger, healthier plants for they will have had to send their roots wider and deeper in searching for water.

Mulch is good for gardens for a number of reasons including water conservation, and this Spring I was lucky enough to get a truckload of ZooDoo. In such demand is this rich compost that the zoo sells it by appointment only, and one gets an appointment by sending in a postcard and by luck of the draw. It has been two years since I was one of the "chosen ones."

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I always try to be open to what I can learn from the garden. There is the actual "hard" knowledge of what and when and where to plant, botanical names, and growth habits. There's always a lot of that to learn. But that's more book knowledge than garden knowledge. Perhaps it's not garden knowledge that I seek, but garden wisdom. The garden can be a teacher of life lessons. My view of the garden is sometimes radically different from my view of the rest of the world. The garden is my sanctuary from the outside world. It is truly a carefree place. When there, I am more calm, and patient. I experience a childlike wonder and fascination, and a hunger for understanding. I don't take failure and disappointment so personally. I am much more forgiving in the garden than out.

Ideally, there should be a way to carry these attitudes with me when I leave the garden and apply them in my daily life. More easily said than done, however. Our lives are so task oriented. We must get such-and-such done, or be someplace by a certain time, and follow our daily plan, and stick to our schedule, or worse, stick to someone else's schedule. At the very least, I can strive to guard against these bad habits encroaching on my garden life. After all, to be free of such demands is one of the reasons I garden in the first place.

With that in mind, I'm trying an experiment this year. A change in the way I approach gardening. Even though I have a great many plans for this gardening season, I'm not going to impose any arbitrary timetable on my progress. No artificial schedules or meaningless deadlines. In the Front Garden very little of what was once lawn remains. I have an overall plan in my head of how I will finish it up, but I am working at it as the mood strikes me, and so with the rest of the garden as well. I find myself jumping from one garden task to the next, almost impulsively. Flitting from one thing to another, letting the garden tell me what to do. Thus elevating "puttering" to a High Art. And I'm finding that the work flow is far from random.
There is a logic to it. A Garden Logic.

And so I'm dispensing with Goals, and sticking to Ideas and Inspirations instead. It is my hope that as a result, each day in the garden will spontaneous, surprising and an adventure. I will trust the Earth and Mother Nature's clock. And my time in the garden will be timeless.

It seems to be working so far. My best days in the garden are ones which begin with, "I wonder what I'll do in the garden today." They often end with me being pleasantly surprised at how much I've accomplished, and inspired by what Nature has done beside me.

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