I cringe at my 5-year-old’s request to start a garden.
The idea overwhelms me. We live in a desert city where the soil demands conditioning or needs to be replaced completely. Quality dirt isn’t cheap. Then there’s the issue of water. Will I be disciplined enough to water my plants daily? Past images of my wilted gardens either over-watered or severely neglected come to mind.
Still, I know the countless benefits to gardening, like this study that correlates it to better mental health and quality of life. Gardening, like running, is an endorphin-inducing activity that calms the nervous system.
How sweet, I think, if my daughter V. and I could tend plants together, digging our hands in the earth and ogling the sheer size of the zucchinis. I am not a stranger to gardening with my children. When my eldest was a toddler, he and I had a successful pallet garden in the backyard. I remember the artichokes best—large as his head—and how he flung himself in the dirt. I want to pass this gift on to my daughter, too. So, why does it feel so hard to start another garden?
The fear of starting
Every time I work up the courage to begin, a new excuse or fear deflates my attempt: I don’t own a truck to haul the soil. We need to save money. I might spend a couple hundred dollars on supplies that may produce only wilted cabbages and shriveled carrots. I don’t know if I have enough discipline or knowledge to keep it alive.
My mind turns to more knowledgeable gardeners than I, like my next door neighbor, Steve. Today, he is nearly blind and in a wheelchair, but I remember his old garden along the west wall of his red brick house. Divided into four large planter boxes with a drip watering system, it was a thing of beauty.
Once, he peeked over the fence to say hello. Catching sight of my untamed tomato plants, he said, “Hold on, I have something for you,” and left me standing alone at the block wall fence. Returning with a metal cage, he pointed to my tomatoes. “Here, slip this over them, that way they can grow nicely.”
At the time, I had wanted to ask him for more gardening tips. How do you keep cilantro from flowering? When do I know to pull artichokes out to make space for new seeds?
Instead, I pressed on—alone. Eventually, my interest waned. I let my boxes grow untamed and overgrown with weeds. Suddenly, it seemed I killed everything I grew. My pallets rotted.
Starting anew
Nearly a decade later, those failures weigh heavily on my heart. I don’t know how to tell my daughter I am too afraid to try again.
But one day, I find myself in the front yard chatting with Steve’s wife, Linda. She tells me she misses gardening. “Oh, you should have seen the ones we used to keep,” she says, her face brightening with the memory.
“You know, V. wants to start a garden,” I say.
“You should!” she exclaims.
I hang my head. “It’s just a lot of work and soil is expensive.”
“We have such nice soil,” she says, “Steve and I worked hard on it. Even brought in worms. Now it’s just sitting there, unused.”
“What if we garden together?” I ask timidly. “V. and I could weed your boxes and prepare the soil. Then we can plant as a group. Take turns watering and tending it…” As I speak, my words gain momentum. Still, I worry about encroaching on her privacy. The boxes are in her backyard, after all. This could threaten the polite barriers we keep in our neighborhood.
But Linda doesn’t discourage my idea. “That would be fine with me. I just have one stipulation.”
“What’s that?” I ask nervously.
“You remember to close the latch on the back gate so the dog doesn’t get out.”
“Done!” I say.
Gardening with purpose
Barefoot in the dirt that summer, I work each garden box with the rototiller that Steve gave Linda on a long-ago anniversary. I cling for dear life as the green metal machine with its sharp, jagged teeth bucks and shakes, pummeling the compact dirt underneath my bare feet until it’s soft and manageable. V. helps me pull the weeds. Linda teaches me to cover the boxes in old sheets to protect seedlings from the scorching sun and consults her old calendar for the proper planting time.
To plant a garden gives our long summer days purpose. And I notice that V, Linda, and I grow closer to each other. Sofie Roos, a licensed relationship therapist from Passionerad, says of gardening, “To have shared goals, work for them, brainstorm and solve problems together as well as actually see that the work you put in pays off is a great way of maintaining your relationship and connection.”
The time spent each evening in Linda’s backyard boxes also refreshes us. Roos says that’s because a garden is often a safe space to de-stress, reflect, energize, and breathe in fresh air.
When fall arrives, we are ready. We grow carrots, zinnias, spinach, and snap peas. This garden flourishes in a way none of my other gardens had. I feel my heart loosen its grip on the memories of the old failures, making room for something new: friendship and community with my neighbor and a deeper connection with my daughter, who is always eager to care for our shared garden.
The benefits of communal gardening
“Tending to nature and growing your own food provides a sense of satisfaction and self-sufficiency,” says Suzannah Weiss, a relationship coach at Biird. “So, sharing this experience with someone else allows you to build positive memories with them.” And to beautify a shared space gives you both a sense of accomplishment, she adds.
One morning, Linda and I have a good laugh. In the third box, we’ve tenderly watered weeds for a month, thinking they were our long-awaited flowers.
“Silly me,” she says. “I should’ve known better.”
“No,” I say, “We planted flowers. How were we supposed to know?”
Linda smiles. “Well, it’s much better doing it together. Then there’s three of us to blame.”
We talk of many things in the garden. Of Linda’s grandson’s passing. Her uncle’s prize winning lawn in Utah. V’s hopes to be in the Olympics someday for gymnastics. Because gardening can put you in a clear headspace, it paves the way for connective conversation, Weiss explains.
This experience has been good for all three of us—but I know we aren’t the only people to experience the benefits of communal gardening.
L’Taundra Everhart, owner of Mixed Greens for the Soul, points me to a study that found school gardening programs help children develop stronger social bonds and a sense of belonging. Of gardening with her friend, Everhart says, through the years “caring for our plants has mirrored the care we’ve put into our relationship, nurturing both to grow and flourish.”
When I think about gardening with Linda and V., I feel this is true. I am bonded to Linda over our shared garden, our shared crops and our shared laughter over silly mistakes. Tending a garden together is a truly shared experience. From now on, it won’t take the nudging of my children to remind me that there is something vital about digging in soil together.
Photo courtesy of RossHelen/Shutterstock
