Feature/General
How Do My Gardeners Grow?
By Cynthia Hamilton
April/May 2005

When my son was a year and a half old I was desperate to find an activity that would get us out of the house for little money and would be satisfying to both of us. At the time, we lived in western New York state where it was common to battle snow from Halloween to Mother’s Day. So many times I remember standing at the kitchen window feeling trapped by the snow banks that lined our driveway and the four walls that seemed increasingly to be closing in on me.

I needed an outlet, an escape from the hours of Blue’s Clues and block towers that had become my life. Little did I know my escape was staring me in the face the whole time, albeit under six inches of snow. As the snow melted and the grass turned green once again, I realized I had no farther to look than my own backyard for an escape from the confines of my house and an opportunity for newfound freedom. Even after moving to Georgia, where we can enjoy the outdoors for even more months of the year, gardening continues to provide a unique and inexpensive opportunity for us to spend time together, yet alone, and to independently discover and share our own private passions.

For the cost of some basic plastic gardening tools, my son was quickly captivated by his own new discoveries. With his first pour of his small watering can, he mastered the law of gravity and immediately set off like a dog marking its territory, watering everything in sight, including, but not limited to, plants, our shoes, car, lawn furniture, and patio grill.

When he tired of watering, worms provided another equally tantalizing attraction for both him and, later, my daughter. Buckets containing small worms, fat worms, worms cut in half, all properly identified and categorized, lined the walkway as both children delighted in delicately pulling the creepy, slimy creatures from the dirt as I hid squeamishly behind my thick gardening gloves.

Beyond worms, their harvesting skills were broadened to include helping pick the tomatoes and peas we planted each summer and spring. Very few made it into the house as both filled their stomachs with the sweet red and green gems straight from the vines. From our early successes, we went on to plant strawberries, blueberries, grapes, eggplants, broccoli, and pumpkins while the scent of cobblers, pies and pastries wafted through my mind. We all delighted in picking out the seeds, nursing our seedlings and finally watching the fruits of our labor develop. We seldom tired of tending to our garden and never minded that most days all we had to show for our work was a bucket of dried up worms left to bake in the warm sun.

Any monetary savings our sparse homegrown produce afforded us paled in comparison to the priceless hours of peace and quiet gardening provided me. Surely, this was my own private pleasure. As my children broadened their explorations, I finally found myself free to let my mind wander in ways that had become impossible when dealing with the day to day demands of caring for two young children. Without my toddlers’ seemingly constant interruptions, I at last allowed myself the opportunity to dream once again. I could reflect on myself, setting new goals and seeing new opportunities, reminisce about the early more romantic years of my marriage, and appreciate more fully the miracles that had become my children.

Gardening provided me the opportunity to indulge both my mind and spirit. Through this new creative outlet I felt invigorated. Browsing through garden centers and flipping through gardening catalogs filled me with new energy and purpose. I enjoyed experimenting with the many vibrant colors and interesting textures that this new “art” form provided. Over time, I was able to transform my empty yard from something that had once seemed cold and abandoned into a more warm and inviting space for my family to enjoy.

The satisfaction I derived from gardening brought another, but just as important, benefit for me – avoidance. The days we spent working outside gave me a convenient excuse to ignore the constant chaos and mess that come naturally to a house with toddlers. To be able to avoid the drudgery of housework even for a few hours was particularly delightful. What a welcome relief it was to be able to push aside the breakfast dishes and spend a morning planting a rose bush with my children. What a tremendous pleasure to stand at my kitchen window and look at the colorful blooms knowing that, unlike dirty dishes or laundry, which are never truly done, I had accomplished something of lasting beauty.

I must admit, throughout the years, for all the joy gardening has brought me, it has also burdened me with a nagging and persistent sense of guilt. For many years I passed up invitations to playgroups, cut short our trips to the park, and, all too often, dragged both kids off to the garden centers. Sadly, after all these years, I still carry a lot of guilt. It has never vanished, but has rather been transformed. I no longer feel guilty over what my kids didn’t do when they were very young. Today, I feel guilty over what they now want to do. I worry that my son feels more comfortable in the yard pulling weeds than throwing a baseball. I was embarrassed this Valentine’s day when a cashier at the garden center looked at me rather disapprovingly, not understanding both children’s love of selecting and buying plants for their own garden spaces, and said, “So, you kids are using your own money to buy these plants.”

I am reminded by well meaning friends that every mother feels guilty about something or other all the time. Yet, somehow this seems different. Sure, we all benefited from the fresh air and sunshine we enjoyed while gardening. But, was I just kidding myself that it provided anything more than a self indulgent hobby I performed solely for my own personal pleasure? And so, knowing how long I have struggled with this question now, all I could do was smile to myself recently when, while planting a Lantana with my son, he stopped, leaned back on his heels, looked at me with a big smile and said, “Mommy, I really like gardening.”