Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday











This spring, we’ve had the most strawberries we’ve ever had. It’s both a blessing and a curse; there’s a strange, sick game of keep-it-up with the berries that feels a lot like trying to do magic with a broken wand (Ron Weasley reference? Anyone?). Every day I find berries that have tucked themselves down into the dark damp centers of the plants, beneath the straw. Berries that I had just the day before lifted and placed onto nice dry straw. How is this happening?! 

Well, they’re growing and shifting constantly, daily, hourly. Those berries that make their way down to the wet soil ruin themselves with mold, slugs, and snails so fast it’s infuriating. For each big handful of berries I salvaged each day, another handful was tossed away into the compost (or the yard, let’s be honest, the yard). If I had to do it all over again, I would have planted these strawberry plants along the tops of a high row and covered the earth with burlap right up to the hilt of the plant. But hindsight…

A couple of weeks ago, a good neighbor friend hung out and chatted with me in our back yard while I worked in the garden and our kiddos played together. How do you know how to do all this? she asked, nodding toward the garden and my filthy hands. I have no idea, I had replied. I guess I just grew up doing it? 

And that’s half true. But much of it just comes from doing it. Year after year, figuring it out as I go along. Doing what seems like the right thing to do. I mess up all the time. I miss pests that I should have anticipated. I plant in the wrong places. I find an entire carrot patch growing behind a tomato plant that I did not plant (my boys must have dumped a while packet of seeds there!). I make so many mistakes in the garden, it’s hilarious. But I also learn from them. Year after year, I’m figuring it out.


But this place is my happy place. It’s where I can calm my mind, feel the breeze, hear the hawks calling overhead, nibble mint, parsley, and baby kale as I work. It’s the place I feel most centered and connected. I spend hours in the garden without if feeling like 10 minutes have passed. I may not know just what I’m doing all the time, but this place is my place.

So, sorry strawberries.

5 thoughts on “Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday”
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  1. I am encouraged seeing your strawberry harvest – my kids would devour them in seconds! We moved into our house last summer, so we are getting to know the garden and I am certain I won’t be able to fully maintain what the previous owners so lovingly planted. However, I appreciate comments like yours that gardening is a game of trial and error. Even if all I can do this year is keep the weeds at bay and cut some flowers for the house, I’ll be calling that a success! Oh, and I discovered wild strawberries growing along the driveway, so maybe there will be some strawberries in our future, too.

  2. While I’m impossible at growing food, my garden is formal and filled with flowers and I love, love, love it! I think it takes a certain mind and temperament to be a gardener-no matter what one designs and grows. First, you have to have interest and then knowledge and experience come after that. It takes thought and research and an investment and a real love of getting dirty.

    To note, it is an organic art form. One doesn’t have control over their medium. But they plant and care for and trust and see what happens. I think this is the ultimate excitement of it all. I am always moving plants or pulling something out and trying another thing. And each year of weather is new and different. Its a lot like raising people without all the incessant talking.

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