According to that dubious sage, the internet, slow gardening is the latest trend. "Don't mow and blow," they advise. Harried, high-achieving gardeners are warned not to let gardening become stressful. "Slow gardening is a mindset," one article clarifies, "replacing the lawncare chore with the pleasurable work of growing one's own food, starting plants from seed and gardening with local resources."
My ideal pace of gardening is done on a calendar that spans not four seasons or twelve months, but 24 months or five years! When we bought our first house in Austin, we dared not put in a fruit tree because we didn't think we'd live there long enough to reap the rewards. Ten years later, we could have made peach pie or plum jam! Now that we've been in our Hamilton home for just over 17 years, we still don't have a fruit tree (mainly because local fruit is so plentiful in Central New York) but we've invested in asparagus and planted blackberry and raspberry bushes. Herbs that return year after year are a worthy investment. We will never run out of cilantro because it has self-seeded... everywhere!
I plant so many perennials knowing that it may be a year - or longer - before I witness a blossom. Yet, there are others that surprise and reward with larger blooms, heartier foliage, and have spread enough that I must divide or be conquered. My most prized specimens are ones that I've received from friends.
Last weekend, my houseplants made the Great Migration from their winter home in a bright and warm-ish sunroom to their summer digs on the back patio. Dozens and dozens of plants, some tropical (like passion flower, curry leaf, lemongrass, avocado, and fuschia) and others more common (like begonias, hoyas, succulents, and sooo maaany spider plants) were hauled out into the sunshine, repotted and prepared for warm langorous days of gentle rain and nights of warm breezes. Just like the person tending them, my chlorophyll'd friends seemed to stretch in the warm, yellow light and their leaves took on a brighter hue.
The time I spend in my garden cannot ever be considered anything but play. I arrange and rearrange plants like they are furniture in a dollhouse, I experiment with new ways of propagating, and I try to create "scenes" out of plants and pottery and wood and stone. The exercising of creativity and imagination becomes my fascination as I slowly translate ordinary things into moments of joy or amusement. Beneath plants, you may find a chunk of old glass worn smooth, a painted stone, or a gnarl of wood covered in lichen and moss.
I love the way the four-year-old wisteria weaves across an arbor made of naturally contoured sticks, and has whipped itself around the wire of the garden fence like embroidery. Velvety moss covers some stones in the garden path while others are flecked with color.
Gardening, but slowly, takes inspiration from nature's way of creating living spaces - requiring patience and nurturing, trial and error and trial again. In the end, the result will be to delight, bring peace, and a touch of chaos. Far from stressful, slow gardening for me is therapeutic and calming.
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