Tending to the garden

Starting fresh, putting in the work, and waiting

I’ve been thinking a lot about gardening. Memorial Day - in addition to honoring those who have served our country - is exciting for some of us in Maine because it marks the beginning of safe planting season, when we are fairly well assured of no more frost, and the earth has warmed enough to welcome tender roots.

Yesterday, I moved sprouting dahlias and ranunculus from my kitchen table to the garden bed, and I thought about my mother. She was the same kind of gardener that she was a cook: able to whip up beautiful and tasty confections seemingly from whatever was at hand. Her gardens displayed her British heritage and emerged each spring in a riot of well-placed color.

There are so many things I love about gardening: the satisfaction of hard physical labor, the feeling of accomplishment when a new planting really takes off, the optimism inherent in moving a failing plant to a new location. The birds, the bees, the butterflies.

But I also love that gardening is a metaphor for, well, everything. As I garden, I turn over in my mind the things about my life and my work that need tending. Where can I pull back? Where can I lean in? What idea or endeavor should be shifted to a sunnier spot? Where can I put in a bit more effort? The cycle of the garden is the cycle of life, and it reminds me that a new start is always possible, although patience is required.

Recently I led some research into use of a new brand - one that had the soil well-laid for a successful yield. But somehow, the reality of its garden fell short of expectations. What went wrong? Nothing, it seems. Sure, there are steps for the brand to take to increase adoption, but ultimately, we learned that time is the most-needed element here, for roots to take hold, for flowers to bloom.