This morning was the work party in the community garden, and similar to Emeshe, I often have a lot of deep thoughts while I’m working outside. I enjoy tackling village problems and working through big questions while I am busy pulling grass, looking for cucumber beetles, or harvesting basil tops.
Christina here, writing about effort, cynicism, and why I don’t like to grow carrots.
As it often does, the conversation this morning eventually went to the fencing issue. We have deer and rabbits that get in the garden and really demolish certain crops every chance they get. In the past we’re tried all sorts of methods to keep them out: adding chicken wire to the fence, tying string high over the fence, adding a string of electric wire around the perimeter, and even spraying a mixture of hot sauce and soap on the bean plants.
Eventually, the animals figured out a way to get what they wanted, and once they had access, they’d just mow down the crop they were after. Side note to animals: Are those sweet potato greens and bean leaves really worth all that effort when you have a whole forest right there??
So this year, we’ve given up in a few ways. We didn’t plant any sweet potatoes down in the community garden, and for the beans we have settled on a small bean cage, sort of like a fence within the fence, that seems to mostly work.
When I was a teacher, I learned fairly quickly that I could put in 100 percent and get about 90 percent from my students or I could put in 60 percent effort and get about 80 percent from them. Learning how to not burn myself out while still getting at least some of the outcome that I want has definitely been a lifelong struggle. And like so many things in life, trying to garden has been a great way to, um, re-relearn those valuable lessons.
I’m personally not a huge fan of beans, so it’s not such a tragedy for me; it seems like an easy way to give up that 40 percent.
The beans-and-sweet-potato issue also brings up the question of how much to be the garden grinch. I can be very cynical about growing food around here! I’ve been gardening in Northeast Missouri on and off for about 10 years, and between the bugs and the clay soil, there are some things that to me don’t seem to be worth the work–especially if I can get them easily at the store. So I’d personally pass on growing carrots, cabbage, onions, and watermelon.
But what if someone in the community garden is really passionate about growing something on that list? Do I try to tell them all the ways that I tried and failed to keep the borer worms off the zucchini? Do I try to convince them that the onions will probably be small, or they’ll bolt, or they’ll rot in a few weeks anyway? Or do I just let them put in the time and effort and see if they can prove me wrong?
I’ve found myself asking this same question with so many other endeavors that I have attempted and found mixed success with in the village. Whether the topic is homeschool co-ops, making money at pizza nights, or houses built with almost zero natural materials, I am rarely at a loss for an opinion. But when should I share that opinion, in the hopes that others learn from my mistakes? And when should I just let them try for themselves–and maybe prove me wrong? Last year we had an amazing onion crop, and the year before that, we grew some of the most delicious carrots I’ve ever tasted. And maybe the current crop of parents of young children will pull off a homeschool co-op after all.
I’ve settled on a philosophy of trying to keep my mouth shut more than I want to, which is probably a happy medium where I still say more than I should, but less than I otherwise would.
Ultimately, I don’t really expect to find answers to many questions in life–from beans to homeschool to building materials–but I do really enjoy spending time in the Down Below Community Garden, talking with friends new and old about big ideas and trivial stuff.
And if anyone is really excited about planting fall carrots, I promise to help weed and water them, even if I’m skeptical they’ll make it.
Christina Lovdal Gil is a regular contributing writer to this publication. She has lived with her family at Dancing Rabbit for 10 years.