Garden Lesson #8

While awaiting the end of the world today, my mom and I decided it was a good time to plant our garden.

This is our third year at the same plot and our relationship with our plot is beginning to show visible signs. As we planned out where we would place our plants and seeds this year, we were not only drawing on the theoretical knowledge of which plants should or should not be next to each other, but we were also thinking of the rises and dips within our 1000 feet. We've learned that in the middle and slightly to the west is a big dip that floods in the rain. As we learned last year the hard way, this is not a good location for onions. However, the corn was planted on a rise the past 2 years and dries out quickly, which is not good for corn. We've learned that peas and squash make excellent companions, since peas are done and gone just in time for squash to flourish and take over large amounts of space. I could go on with the list, but I think you get the point.

Today, as we started preparing to plant, we found bits of last year's garden. Small, dried out cobs of corn that never got taken to the compost pile. A leftover, wrinkly, red potato. A plastic tag that was probably once attached to a pair of garden gloves.

My dad came and helped with the preparing and planting today. When he'd ask questions about why we were organizing the garden in certain ways, or why we weren't planting sunflowers, or other questions of this sort, our answers came out in stories. It was the story of our garden plot and it's unique characteristics, the story of our silly inside joke about needing a muster point in case of emergency, the story of why there are cobs of corn scattered around and why they are so small. The garden plot has become an important part of our life, and judging by the cobs and wrinkly potatoes, we've become an important part of its life as well.

We develop relationships with our habitats, whether we're aware of it or not. Sometimes they become a part of our stories because they are important and we are fond of them. And sometimes as we begin to tell stories about them, they become important and we develop a fondness for them. These habitats are more than a garden, or the landscape around us. It can include people, events, situations, whatever fills our lives. So, keep telling stories. If only to not forget what we value, or not learn to love anything else.