Impatience and the gardener

Jill Severn

Any gardener who isn’t failing isn’t learning. Our failures, when they lead to learning, should be badges of honor.”

Editors note: Jill is under the weather today, so we're republishing a previous article to enjoy. this article was originally published under the title "The impatient gardener" July 8, 2022. 

Years ago, I finally gave up hating morning glories – possibly the world’s most persistent weed. I had to work at it but, eventually, reason prevailed over frustration. I still try to get rid of them all, but I do so without rancor. Letting go of that anger was a big relief.

It is truly ridiculous to hate a plant. Morning glories are not out to annoy us; they just do what they do. In fact, when I first encountered them, I thought they were quite beautiful growing up my chicken yard fence. I felt betrayed when they turned out to be invasive and hard to control.

That’s just one example of the irrational feelings of anger, impatience, blame and shame that so often afflict gardeners.

We complain when plants don’t grow fast enough and when they grow too fast and get too big.

We feel hostility toward certain shrubs, vegetables and flowers we don’t like -- and sometimes to the people who grow them. I know someone who has a powerful animus towards bearded irises, for instance. Her description of them is unprintable. And lots of people hate invasive and damaging knotweed with passionate intensity.

Many gardeners also hold fierce grudges against slugs, aphids and other creatures that, like the morning glories, are just doing what they do in the world. It might be worth pointing out that they are incapable of returning our hostility.

But here’s what’s even worse: Far too many gardeners spend time being mad at themselves or feeling like failures for not measuring up to their own aspirations and ambition.

Some of this comes from the mistaken belief in ideas like this: “Peas just don’t grow well for me.” But peas don’t know who are what you are, and they aren’t growing for you or for anyone else. It’s not personal with them, and it shouldn’t be for you.

Puny peas are not a reason to give up gardening; they’re a reason to learn what you need to know to solve your peas’ problems. Half an hour on Google or with a garden book might restore your hope and cheer you up. And next year it will be a triumph when your peas thrive.

Here’s another obvious thought: Any gardener who isn’t failing isn’t learning. Our failures, when they lead to learning, should be badges of honor.

Then there is the affliction of perfectionism. No garden is ever perfect; they are always and forever works in progress. Accepting this is one of the blessings of having gardened for several years. Maybe some shorter flowers are in back of taller flowers in your perennial border, but hey, those are beautiful flowers. And now you know what to do next spring.

As we know, all gardening is experimental. This year, I gave flowerbeds too much manure, and now some plants are growing so tall I have to stake them up before they fall over. I have always wondered how much manure is too much. So this was a useful, even if unintended, experiment.

As we head into high summer, all our failures and flaws will show up. Humility, patience, and willingness to learn are in order. They will help us do what our plants do: lean towards the light.

Jill Severn writes from her home in Olympia, where she grows vegetables, flowers, and a small flock of chickens. She loves conversation among gardeners. Start one by emailing her at  jill@theJOLTnews.com