Lavaterra flowers

How Does Your Garden Grow?

I’ll admit it, I’m hell-bent on patterns.

“Patterns?” You ask? Yes, dear friend. Patterns. And no, not the plaid and houndstooth of the world. No, no, no. Patterns! You know, the type of patterns that aren’t actually patterns at all but rather one time happenings we aim to replicate into eternity!

Mustard greens
Hello, mustard leaf hearts.

Those “patterns”

For example, The Chief and I have a really nice evening. We happen to have meatloaf for dinner. It happens to be Monday and suddenly…poof! Meatloaf Mondays are born. That kind of “this was good, may it always be so” type of pattern. I’m always trying to sell The Chief unsolicited tickets to my patterned events: Sunday Strolls. Take Out Tuesdays. Sweep Up Saturdays. Chop Wood Wednesdays. It seems I’m a huge fan of “always” and a downright devotee to alliteration.

Meatloaf Mondays
A tradition begins…2018

And perhaps that’s OK, no? A little bit of organization never hurt anyone, right Marie Kondo?

Marie Kondo organizing
Organizing a tiny house is best down out of doors but…Winter was coming.

But…

In my search for continuity, I seem to “find” patterns everywhere, even where they don’t exist.

So last year, when I had a downright banner year in the garden, I assumed (read: decided) that was how the garden would go from there on out. Perfectly.

All the warning signs that I was experiencing pattern blindness were there. Some of the best gardeners I know had quite difficult years last year due to pests or pole vaulting moose or the reason scariest of them all: the unknown. Eek! Still, despite seeing the ebb and the flow in even the best gardeners, this emerging seedling of a green thumb looked at my beautiful brassica bounty and assumed it would always be so.

Giant cabbages Alaska
Cabbage bounty, 2019


Clearly, I’m not winning any Best at Living in the Here and Now awards.

As the season came to an end and I did my best to put up what I’d grown and as the snow came, I tucked in the garden until next year.

This year.

The year that should have been just as good as last year. No, better!

Right?

Right?!

Gardening in Alaska 2019
August 21st, 2019. Jungle greens.



I get attached to “patterns” even when they’ve yet to begin, even when their outcome is unlikely.

Yet sometimes patterns pan out, like seeing the same first flower every year, year after year, once the snow starts to melt:

Anenome flower, Alaska
2019
Anenome bloom, spring in Alaska
2020. Same nail polish too, since 2008. Creature of habit, much?


I “see” a pattern and decide it’s a downright guarantee and while that’s totes adorbs and all, it turns out that even though I can apply mandatory patterns regarding food consumption or chores to myself, applying those patterns to others doesn’t go so hot. Especially when that other is Mother Earth. Mama don’t play that game.

Or does she?

If you’re still wondering, I have photographic proof that she, in fact, does not.

Gardening in Alaska 2020
August 21st, 2020


My cabbages that grew big as beach balls last year seemed not to have gotten their return tickets to 2020. This year’s cabbages have made no suggestion that they might decide to head up, lounging instead as small to medium leaves acting as shields for more delicate crops in our rainy year. In fact, the largest cabbage I have in my garden to date is one I threw in the compost last year that somehow overwintered and came back to life as a triplet. I kid you not.

Cabbage triplets
Hello Alaska State Fair! Sign this big beauty up for the competition!

Cabbage gardening Alaska
…just kidding! Perspective is everything, eh?

So, I stand corrected: one cabbage got a return ticket this year and petite as she is, she’s putting all her leggy, leafy brethren to shame.

Huge cabbages, Alaska
2020. A lot more cabbage, but one less ring.

So, clearly, this year, the year to beat the banner year has been a bit of a dud in some ways. Certainly, it started out with a thud. I started my seeds early, earlier than I ever had in order to get a jump on things. The world was (is?) falling apart (yet never fear, here are some tips to wait out the apocalypse) as we know it and food shortages seemed to loom in our future. Being a “mere” 8 hours from the nearest large grocery store, I hopped to it. I would provide for our family for the summer and the following months to come.

My seeds had another idea. Since people were running about all Henny Penny and seeds were bought up faster than you can say “The sky is falling!”, I recycled them from the year before. Normally, a girlfriend and I share an annual seed order because we are thrifty like that but this year, the seed stores were low and shipping times were prohibitive so we opted to simply reuse last year’s pups. Big mistake?

Maybe.

Gardening starts
1 for 6 in the first row, 2 for 3 in the second, 0 for 3 in the third. Not the best stats.


Or maybe the problem was that the soil was bunk or the trays had a funk or maybe 2020 got wind of our plans and decided to throw her doomsday fancy footwork into the show. Either way, germination wasn’t exactly my strong suit this year. I may not be a pro but I’ve been consistently able to get the finicky Delphinium to germinate so to not be able to pop up a nasturtium, welcome some kale or greet a snap pea? That was weird.

My girlfriend experienced similarly lackluster results with flowers and veggies that were equally old hat to her. A few weeks later, I went for another round, and luckily some of those who hadn’t thrived earlier popped into play. I had the basics and the garden would go on.

The spring sunshine, however, would not. We’ve had the rainiest, coldest summer I’ve ever known anywhere. Like Hawaii, we’ve had afternoon showers almost daily. Unlike Hawaii, we didn’t experience much in terms of t-shirt weather until July, and now, come August, we are back to winter layers that never even had the chance to get put into storage. So, needless to say, the slow start of the seedlings never found a helping hand in the weather and certain things show it.

Failed gardening starts
Cauliflower without a crown.


While others thrive.

Lavaterra
The first bloom of the year: Lavaterra from seed.


Though I may not be rich in sauerkraut from cabbages this winter, we will certainly have squash goodness galore. While my arugula itch never got scratched this summer, beautiful heads of red, butter and romaine lettuce led the charge into the salad bowl. Despite not a single snap pea coming to fruition, the climbing fence The Chief fashioned for me holds a plethora of sweet peas whose scent transports me every time I breathe it in. And further developments like the new stacking boxes he fashioned promise potatoes aplenty.

Pea and bean trellis
Sweet pea and snake bean city
Sweet peas
The sweetness
Potato boxes
Stackin’ taters 3 feet high now

And while doubles were the wildest combo I’d ever seen my zucchini flowers produce, I was lucky enough to see triplets this year!

Conjoined triplet zucchini flowers
We got trips!

So, how does my garden grow?
Differently.
Beautifully.
In a way all its own.

Greenhouse Alaska
Welcome to the jungle. We’ve got squash and games.


Patterns, while consistent and trustworthy, leave little room for the here and now. I’m certainly not keen to give up some of them (Meatloaf Mondays forever. If you haven’t had meatloaf since the 80’s, I implore you to give it a revamp and another try. Thank me later) but I think, I hope I can make a little more room for the abstract to come and share its wisdom as well. Despite learning the lesson that everything changes (even your face time and time again (though hopefully not ever again in that manner ever), it’s still a hard one for me to accept. Yet, when I take a step back to truly see what change reveals, it turns out the picture is uniquely beautiful, every time.

Livingstone Daisy
Daisy Livingstone, I presume? How cool are those leaves?!

It may not have been a replication of last year but this year’s garden was drop-dead gorgeous and super productive in so many other ways. The sun didn’t shine into the 80’s every day like it did last year but perhaps we were better off without the wildness a relentless midnight glow can bring. I didn’t buy a single flower this year, as I always have in the past and hoped my few starts would brighten up the place. It’s been the best flower year yet.

Nemesia
Nemesia from seed. Happiness embodied.

The garden didn’t produce in the same way as last year but it did in so many other ways and because the garden took longer to take off, I’ve found myself foraging more in the bounty that surrounds us. Picking fireweed blossoms and wild raspberries, mint, chamomile, yarrow, and more in our yard. Discovering the joy of Orange Delicious mushrooms, thanks to the teachings of a friend.

Orange delicious polenta bake
Zucchini & Orange Delicious baked polenta

Moving away from the old made room for discovering the new, perfectly imperfect as it is.

A year’s passed and life has sure has changed. Last year I was up to my eyeballs in cabbage and greens. This year I find myself a zucchini queen. Last year I was prepping for a wedding, this year, an anniversary. Imagine that. Change. Despite the feelings of safety a pattern might elicit, trying to force it to stay finds us ripping at the seams. So, I’ll let go…

a little.

With love,

from Alaska

Calendula Alaska
Even though only one Calendula seed came to be, she certainly made up for the others that didn’t! Wild child in orange.


P.S. How does your garden grow?

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4 comments

  1. My garden – my first Alaskan garden – was a fair bust this summer. Kale enough and some herbs, but mostly just a neglected mess. Too many other things to do around here to worry much about weeding, so foraging it was for me too, and that was just as joyful and fruitful as I could have wished.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. I actually made it out for blueberries this year, which was awesome – I’ve always been away from home and freezer in blueberry times. We had chickweed pesto (from the overgrown garden) and a friend of mine made some delicious spruce tip scones this spring. My favorite though was morels! I’d never gone mushrooming before, and it was wonderful. A nice gift from last year’s big fires.

        Liked by 1 person

        1. Ooo! Awesome. I’ve never found blueberries but I know they are here. I’ve never heard of spruce tip scones but they sound delicious! Morels really are special, aren’t they?! That sounds like a rad foraging year!

          Like

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