A Season of Growing in More Ways Than One

What my summer garden is teaching me about patience, grief, learning, and finding joy in the smallest things.

I started gardening again in March, thinking I was simply planting a summer vegetable garden. I had no idea how much I would come to need it.

Somewhere between planting seeds, checking for new growth every morning, battling caterpillars, hand-pollinating squash, and celebrating the smallest harvests, the garden became more than a hobby. After losing my sister, it has become one of the places where I can quiet my mind. It gives me something to nurture on days when I need nurturing myself.

Grief is strange. Some days are harder than others, and sometimes it catches you when you least expect it. The garden doesn't make the grief go away, but when I'm out there, my mind gets a little quieter. I'm focused on what needs water, what's ready to pick, what new flower has opened, or whether that tiny squash I've been watching has grown since yesterday.

There is something incredibly therapeutic about putting your hands in the soil and watching something grow.

In fact, whenever someone talks to me about grief now, I find myself telling them: grow something. It doesn't have to be a big vegetable garden. Plant some herbs, a tomato plant, or even a few seeds in a pot. There is something about caring for something living and watching it grow that gives you a little bit of hope when you need it most.

Maybe that's why this garden feels so different to me this year. I'm growing vegetables, but somewhere along the way, the garden is helping me grow too.

I'm Still a Student

The more I garden, the more I realize how much I still have to learn. This year, I really do feel like a student in my own backyard.

I've learned how to tell a male squash flower from a female one and how to hand-pollinate. I've learned that just because you see a tiny squash doesn't necessarily mean you're getting a squash. I've learned to look under leaves for unwanted visitors and to pay more attention to the soil, watering, and what each plant is trying to tell me.

One of my biggest lessons has been about pollinators. I didn't plant enough flowers around my zucchini to attract bees, so I've been hand-pollinating the flowers myself—something I had never done before. Next year, I'll definitely plant more pollinator-friendly flowers throughout my vegetable garden.

I'm also learning not to panic every time something doesn't look perfect. A yellow leaf doesn't necessarily mean the plant is dying, and a few holes don't mean the bugs have won. Sometimes you figure out what's wrong and fix it. Sometimes you wait. And sometimes the plant simply has other plans.

The funny thing is, the more I learn, the more questions I seem to have. But that's also what keeps gardening interesting.

I'm still very much a student, and my garden has become one of my favorite teachers.

The Wins & The Struggles

Gardening has a way of keeping you humble. Some things have grown better than I could have imagined, while others haven't gone according to plan at all.

My kale has been the gift that keeps on giving. I've harvested it week after week, and it just keeps coming back. There have been tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, herbs, and now squash slowly making their way from the garden to our table. Every harvest, no matter how small, still makes me ridiculously happy.

And then there are the plants that struggle, the vegetables that never quite make it, and the things that don't turn out the way you expected. Earlier in the season, I think those moments bothered me more. Now I'm learning to accept them as part of the experience.

Maybe that's why the wins feel so good. You wait, you nurture, you hope—and then one morning you walk outside and discover something new growing.

I live for these little moments.

What I'll Do Differently Next Time

I'm already making a mental list.

I'll plant more eggplants. I'll add flowers throughout the vegetable garden to bring in more bees and other pollinators. I'll think more carefully about spacing and give my climbing vegetables the support they need from the beginning. And I'll continue working on my soil, because I'm realizing more and more that what's happening underneath the ground matters just as much as what I can see above it.

I'm sure by next summer I'll have an entirely new list of things I want to change. That's part of the fun. There really isn't a point where you know everything about gardening.

And I don't think I'm going to wait until next summer to keep learning.

My First Fall Garden

Until now, I've mostly been a summer gardener, but this year I'm planning my first fall vegetable garden.

I'm already thinking about what I want to grow and what I can carry forward from everything I've learned this summer. It feels a little like starting over again—which, strangely enough, I'm excited about.

That's one of the things I love about gardening. One season ends, and another one begins. There is always something to look forward to, something new to plant, and another chance to try again.

This garden started as something I wanted to do. Somewhere along the way, it became something I needed.

It hasn't taken away my grief, and I don't expect it to. But it gives me somewhere to go with it. On the difficult days, I can step outside, put my hands in the soil, pull a weed, water something, discover a new flower, or pick something that wasn't ready yesterday.

For a little while, I'm simply there.

Maybe that's what this season of growing has really been about.

For now, I'll keep planting, keep learning, and keep growing—one season at a time.