Of all the necessary components for a successful garden, the most important one can’t be bought or measured. You can’t borrow it, steal it, barter for it, or have it delivered. Yet without it, no garden would ever be planted. The most essential element every gardener must have is hope.
When the gray of winter is interrupted by 4-color seed catalogs, hope spurs us to dream of golden sunny days filled with juicy red tomatoes and crisp green lettuce. Hope spurs us to grab a hoe and a pair of gloves and work up the first sweat of spring. Hope causes us to buy more plants than is advised for our garden space, and causes us to believe that maybe this is the first year powdery mildew won’t decimate our zucchini crop early.
This past winter, my hope was wearing thin. My backyard was literally a construction zone from an unexpected septic system repair and a rotten deck slated for demo. But the biggest hope-sucker of all was the declining health of my husband, who is battling young onset Alzheimer’s. It’s the same rare disease that took the life of Lady Vols’ Coach Pat Summit. After Christmas, he had his first sudden decline and I became a 24/7 caregiver. Planting a garden in 2024 was the last thing on my mind.
Soon after I saw an email about the Build it Up grant and hope began to stir. I filled out the application and honestly forgot all about it, until the email came that said I had been accepted. I looked at our backyard mess, including my old garden spot. Maybe I could have a garden after all.
And so it began, reclaiming my garden from where unwanted red clay had been dumped, hauling in moo-poo compost, and designing the layout. Dan the tiller man came and, in less time than it takes to put on my work boots, had my soil ready to go. Seeds and plants went in. Wood chip mulch went down. Seeds germinated, plants were growing. All was good.
Until life happened. Another decline. Now my husband qualified for hospice. I was thankful for a medical team to help, but still overwhelmed. I tried to keep watering the garden in the drought, but eventually let it go. I was needed elsewhere. My hopes for a successful garden were gone.
After several weeks of having to ignore my backyard, one of my visiting daughters encouraged me to come to the garden and have a look. I was shocked that my mulch had kept many of my plants weed free. It’s true I missed my bean harvest, but tomatoes were coming in strong. Carrots were huge and bell peppers rivaled what you could find at the grocer. My shame over my garden neglect turned into thankfulness that in the middle of my mess, treasures could still be found. I consider my humble garden a great success.
We all have “hard” in our lives at one time or another. If it’s not illness, it can be challenging relationships, a lost job, or financial trouble. And the list goes on. In my current “hard” I’m finding that thankfulness inoculates me from going into depression and keeps my hope alive.
Life is like a garden. We start out full of hope and sunny golden dreams but quickly run into powdery mildew, aggressive weeds, and ravenous insects. The temptation to give up and settle is great. And that’s where hope comes in.
There are still blessings in the heartache. There are lessons being learned and character being forged in the journey. Even if your life garden is full of weeds (and whose isn’t), learn to celebrate progress instead of perfection. And look hard for those Cherokee Purple tomatoes hiding behind the morning glories. They’re there, if you just take time to search. And always remember,
It takes hope to plant a seed.
Plunge the dream into the dirt,
Cover it with the compost
of what must be surrendered,
Water it with your tears,
Fertilize it with your faith—and wait.
And wait.
And trust, that in the darkness,
The seed is not dead, but asleep,
And will awaken in due season.
