Reflections From the Garden: The Sadness of Saying Goodbye

Our garden is on its last legs, with only our pumpkins left to grow. It’s weird to look outside and see our dried-out corn stalks that are now tan and rustic-looking, squash plants that are withering because there are no more fruit to produce, and Queen Aliquippa tomatoes that have turned a warm yellow color. Last week, I wrote an article about learning to appreciate all the seasons and all that they offer, but even in that appreciation, I’m feeling immense sadness knowing that we’ll be tearing down this year’s garden in the coming weeks.

This Garden Will Never Exist Again

There will always be some common threads across the different years’ gardens. We’ll always grow tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, melons, and corn. We’ll even grow some of the same varieties each year. Despite that, future gardens will never be the same as this year’s. Plants won’t be in the same spot even if they’re in the same bed and growing conditions will mean that plants will grow faster or slower in future years.

Something that surprised me this year is that gardens and plants take on unique characteristics. For example, we learned which sections of the garden will quickly flood if there’s a lot of rain and which ones dry out the quickest. We also learned which vines went to which plants, even as they overlapped and tangled. Finally, we learned when it was time to be concerned about a plant’s leaves wilting due to disease or lack of water and when it was because of afternoon heat and sun. Some of these characteristics will be repeated in the future, but we’ll have to approach each garden with fresh eyes and be willing to learn.

Memories

Something that surprises me is feeling sad about the memories made in this garden going away. It’s similar to a trip or time period that you didn’t want to end. It could be a great vacation that you looked forward to for a long time or being in college with friends that you won’t see as often after graduation. Because this was our first in-ground garden, as well as the first one at our own home, we made a lot of memories in it. Magz and I spent so much time working side by side, prepping it and then planting in it. Here are a couple that stand out.

The first goes back to winter when our seed catalogs arrived. There was one night, in particular, when we were both lying on the floor of our living room with our rabbit, Mia. The TV was off, and only the minimum amount of lights were on. We both had a pen and were circling seeds we were interested in as we were reading them to each other. We’ll likely do that every year, but there’s extra importance because this was our first year doing it. And there’s always something special about the first time doing anything, just like the Kenny Chesney song said.

The second memory is working beside each other as we planted seeds outside. While I’ve fallen down the path (or dark well) of taking everything too seriously, Magz has always been great at having fun, no matter what we’re doing. That was the case with planting seeds. I would fuss over making sure that the holes were all the same depth and were spaced correctly, while she was much more relaxed about it. Ultimately, the seeds she planted grew just as well as the ones I did. It taught me a lot, and that memory will stick with me.

The third memory is a joint one. It’s the first vegetable we harvested from the garden and the first pot of pasta sauce we made solely with our tomatoes. I believe that the first thing we pulled from the garden was a burpless cucumber. It was from a plant that was gifted to us, and we didn’t think it would reach maturity, but it did. We simply sliced and ate it by itself, but it was delicious. Then, in August, we finally harvested enough tomatoes at the same time to make a pot of pasta sauce for spaghetti. That was the proudest I’ve ever been in a garden. I know that I’ve talked about being proud of the melons we grew, but being able to eat 100 percent homemade pasta sauce was amazing. In that moment, I felt such relief, knowing that all the work and effort had paid off in something. We made two or three more pots of sauce after that first one, but none tasted as good as the first batch. And I don’t think another batch ever will.

Hard Work

The last reason that saying goodbye to this year’s garden is proving to be difficult is because of all the hard work we put into it. As I mentioned above, the hard work was absolutely worth it, but knowing that we have to tear it down and put in more hard work next year is definitely sad. While we don’t have to start over from scratch, we still have to address the grass problem and upgrade our fence. Ideally, I think we’d love to not have to repeat some of the same hard work moving forward, but that isn’t the case. It’s not a big deal, but it’s still a source of sadness.

Looking Forward to Next Year’s Garden

In spite of the sadness, I’m already looking forward to next year’s garden. I can’t wait to apply the lessons learned this year to future gardens. I’m also excited to make more memories and in general, be in a healthier headspace to start the garden than I was this year. We accomplished so much this year, and I know that the future only holds more, yet we still mourn this year’s garden going away.