You can almost hear the collective sigh of relief across the community — the sun is shining, the snow has finally melted from the valley bottom, and spring feels like it has truly arrived.
With the arrival of spring comes the return of a somewhat polarizing hobby: gardening.
There are those among us who are expert gardeners. Their seeds are already sprouting indoors under carefully positioned grow lights. They can talk fertilizer, tell you the difference between the three varieties of tomatoes they’ve planted this year and could likely deliver a TED Talk on the art of the green thumb — complete with watering schedules, weeding strategies, and harvesting tips.
Then there are the people just starting out — the gardeners in training. With growing interest in homesteading, food security, and reconnecting with where our food comes from, gardening is becoming an increasingly valuable and popular skill.
It comes with plenty of benefits: time spent outdoors, physical activity (gardening engages nearly every major muscle group), improved mental well-being, and an activity that can be enjoyed by all ages. Not to mention the obvious reward — fresh, homegrown food.
I applaud all of these people.
Which brings me to the final group — the one I belong to: the non-gardeners.
These are the people who struggle to keep even the hardiest houseplant alive. The ones who feel a quiet sense of panic at the idea of being responsible for nurturing something long enough for it to actually produce food.
Let me give you an example.
Seven years ago, I was about a year into my relationship with my now-husband, who does possess a green thumb. I casually mentioned that I thought it would be nice to have a small garden.
He enthusiastically put together two planter boxes and filled a handful of pots with tomatoes, fresh herbs, some kind of pepper, and strawberries.
That summer, he was away for work, which meant I was in charge of the garden. Let’s just say our little backyard plot didn’t produce much that season… thanks (or perhaps no thanks) to me.
Fast forward to today, and I cautiously believe things might be different. Last year, my husband gifted me a goldfish plant. As I write this, I’m looking up at the small orange blossoms beginning to bloom. I have successfully — and somewhat nervously — kept this plant alive for over a year now. (Knocks on wood).
So maybe I’m ready for the next level?
The sunshine (and, admittedly, social media) is making me feel inspired to grow something again. Every time I bring up the idea of starting a garden, though, my husband lets out a sigh. He still remembers the outcome of our 2019 attempt.
We’ll see if I can convince him that this year might be different. After all, every green thumb has to start somewhere!
