The Garden of D00m

Expectations VS Reality is a harsh, weedy mistress

Spring is coming. I know this because I’m looking at seed catalogues.

This is the fantasy part of gardening, the imagining of tomatoes and cucumbers that springs from the darkness of winter, when all is a sea of mud and frost. But I heard the sun will come out tomorrow and that means I must plan the garden now.

Already it is taking over my mind as I play imaginary Tetris with garden rows; within those rows, plants and vines are shuffled around to fall into neat little boxes. Trellises and raised beds are erected and destroyed on graph paper, for I still love graph paper and number two pencils, and this means I will wear down the erasers to nubs as I obsessively draw page after page of garden plans, each with a different objective.

Survival Garden? Sweet Potatoes and Kale.

Tex-Mex Garden? Tomatillos and Serrano Peppers

Southern Garden? Red Velvet Okra and Collard Greens

Heirloom Garden? Purple Hull Peas and Patty Pan Squash

Why choose? I become greedy…

The seed catalogues are garden porn. I scroll through page after page of delectable delights, each one tantalising me to try varieties of vegetables I have never known, luring me further and further astray from the faithful varieties that have served me so well in the past. I become obsessed with yellow pear tomatoes and arugula; I envision salads with olive oil and lemon pepper, and I cannot stop the yearning -

I order all the seeds.

My family inwardly weeps. They have been through this so many times before; each year, they watch as I spiral out of control, thinking, hoping, dreaming of gardens. I talk of it over dinner, describing the dishes that will grace our table when the harvest season comes, the myriad delights of the earth becoming a feast…

I openly declare it - this time is different! I have new techniques, new gardening ideas that will surely succeed. My loved ones listen politely, but I know what they are thinking.

I know.

Waiting is the hardest part. Every day, minions are sent to check if the packages have arrived, but they return empty-handed; I pout and order more seeds, because I have come up with a new idea, one that involves herbs and a spiral bed made from native rock and repurposed aluminum cans. It will be a masterpiece…

The boxes of seeds finally arrive. I open each with trembling hands, shaking the little packets and listening; the rattle rattle is music, the music of little baby foodlings. I am enchanted as I stand over them, the hope of Gardens to come…

This time it will be different; I breathe to myself, alone with my seeds. This time I will weed religiously, and water only when needed; through the love of my hands and the sweat of my brow will come the colourful bounty of this Texas soil. My ancestors will look down from their cabins in the sky and will bless me with their gifts, the gifts which have so long eluded me…

This time it will be different. If I pray it often enough, it could happen.