Each year, I plant a garden – keep one going – regardless of failure or success. Each year, I feel this undeniable longing – an impulse, an urge, a life force – to plant seeds. Each year, I plant seeds. I observe what happens. Some seeds are the literal seeds, the literal, visceral things that can sprout. Other seeds are essential support partners like water, compost, nutrients, pollinator habitat, shade and/or light, (and periods of dark nights). This year, for the first time, I’ve had zucchini to harvest. Cucumbers, on the other hand, still have not grown fruit. Last year, there were a small number of cucumbers and zero fruit of zucchini, though beautiful leaves for a period of time…. another first….. then powdery mildew, not a first.

This year, I decided to have a bit of a garden plan – what seeds I would plant, where I would transplant seedlings, spacings, pacing(s)…. What could be grown now, what could be grown later. I wrote things down, mapped it out – at least a bit of an idea. I took my piece of paper to the soil, used the starting idea as a reference, a beginning point. Seeing what seeds actually sprouted, the literal ones, and being in the garden provided an invitation to adapt.

Then more observation, curiosity. What happens when I try this? What happens when I try that? What happens when that outside influence does what it does? Why might what I am observing be happening in the way that it is? How might the way I am observing (or not observing) be influencing what I see and how I am thinking about this? How can I extend this growing season?

Also, early on and now/already: next year, I want to try this. Next year, I want to try that.