It’s been a long week.
The nights are drawing in and the mornings are gloomy. The sky has been a particularly dreary grey most days, a shroud of dull cloud that dulls the waning light of autumn.
A beautiful if gloomy day
We’ve just had a big storm across the UK that has brought high winds for most and flooding for some. There’s a real sense of passing the abundance of summer and early autumn, and now declining toward winter.
Sometimes this time is about bright colours, other times just tattered leaves
A few weeks ago it was a most joyous autumn with an abundance of asters and trees laden with fruit; the storm’s rain seems to have washed the joy out of everything.
Cheer Up!
Gardening is one of those life affirming activities. Gardeners are filled with joy and excitement at all times, dancing cheerfully through the bounty of life.
Flowers bring great joy to the gardener
Gardeners are so lucky to be outside. At least that’s what we’re told when the sun shines.
Life is always great in the garden.
Really?
In reality things aren’t all great in the garden. We gardeners are largely a pragmatic lot, aware that every season brings joy and sorrow.
Who could remain joyful and happy when their prize flowers are wiped out by a storm? Who can smile as heat withers the garden away?
A beautiful garden like this takes dedication to push through the challenges
When your livelihood relies on the well-being of a garden, the gap between the joy and sadness can be even greater. You tell yourself that this is how things are in the garden; the truth is that sometimes things just suck.
Apology
I’m sorry to those for whom every day in the garden must be one of unbridled joy; I can’t do that.
At lean times of the year joy is found even in the detail of a tree trunk
I run the gardener’s gamut of emotions, from elation to despair, right through the gardening year. For me there is no ‘snapping out of it’ or ‘seeing the good side to everything’.
Maybe there’s something wrong with me?
It was certainly heartening to read Marianne’s thoughts on the trials of being a gardener in her latest letter to Scott…
Unrepentant
To nurture a garden is an act of care, and it’s only right to accept the range of emotions that go with that act of care.
To garden is to open your soul to the good and bad of gardening. The unbridled joy of a gardener’s triumphs are a mystery to non-gardeners, as are the wounding failures.
Non-gardeners will never truly appreciate the joy of snowdrops on a dark winter day
Some gardeners don’t care; they’re happy to see their gardens as little more than exterior decoration for their homes. They’ll get upset if grandma’s vase gets broken but feel nothing to the loss of a plant in the garden.
Some people care greatly for things others don’t care about at all.
Be Grumpy!
I hereby make a case that we should vent our frustrations without risk of being shamed by those who profess a ‘cheerful disposition’.
The triumph of growing some plants is just incredible, but their loss is costly and sad
Losing a tray of seedlings because you forgot to water them is very annoying. It is completely acceptable to get angry because deer have come in and stripped the roses of their blooms. Sometimes our gardens are heavenly, but sometimes we could happily never set foot in the garden again.
Vent To Other Gardeners
We know it’s not good to bury emotions. Pretending that gardening is all ‘flowers and joy’ risks building up resentment when things aren’t going well.
When we voice the things that irritate us as individuals it gives others the opportunity to say “yes, that annoys/upsets me too”. Having a good old grumble about the things that aren’t right lets us process things with other gardeners; it might not make the problem go away but at least we can share our frustrations.
Meeting other gardeners is an opportunity to share news and information, and to vent frustrations
By allowing ourselves to experience negative emotions with our gardens it reminds us that we truly care. Nurturing a garden and not feeling strongly about its highs and lows just doesn’t seem right somehow.
Of course you’re right, Ben. And right now it’s also the end of another demanding summer (garden closed – yey!!) and yesterday I was thinking that I just didn’t want to go out into the garden at the moment. I need a bit of a break from it. Think about something else.
That’s not so possible for you, so enjoy your moan: you’re entitled to it.
It’s entirely possible to love the garden and also be glad to spend time apart.
maybe why some of us plant things like “love lies bleeding’
Thank you Ben! It is so helpful and affirming to see in black and white the gamut of my own emotions about the garden in the eastern US this year. The fall has been a glorious recompense for all the angst of drought and heat and wilting plants for weeks. Your words are life and sanity affirming.
Thank you, that’s very kind.
Ben, thank you. I’m going to plant more snowdrops.
Something to look forward to during winter. They bring hope at just the right moment.
Garden writer Henry Mitchell agrees with you. He said, “Wherever humans garden magnificently, there are magnificent heartbreaks.” He was right, and yet the rewards are such that we press on regardless. It is good to know that we are not alone in our discontent. How fortunate we are to have realists alongside us in the “horti” cult. Excellent Rant!
Horti-cult! Genius!!!
“Magnificent heartbreaks”. How very true. What a great quote!
I just can’t help thinking that trivialising the bad bits of gardening does nobody any favours. Gardening is so many things to so many people, but we’ve got to accept all of it and not just the good bits.
Yes, yes, yes. There is always a week or two every year when I hate gardening — it’s too hot, there’s too much to do, it’s never going to rain again, there’s not enough time. I recognize the cycle now and wait until the feeling of being overwhelmed passes (at least at home — can’t do that at work garden or the school garden), which it always does. And soon enough
I’m plant-shopping or transplanting or reminding myself that even 15 minutes in the garden is better than nothing at all.
I sometimes go through times of great despair, but can’t imagine myself turning my back on gardening…
All you had mentioned rings troo for me as well…. Having a group of like minded friends DOES help… some may need AA we need GG (Garden Grumblers) “Hello, my name is Annie, I haven’t had thoughts of exchanging my husband for a rare Japanese maple AND I haven’t purchased a new plant in……2 days…( everyone claps and nods admiringly)
Annie…Love it! 🙂
I love this idea!
Oh just perfect, Annie. I love the idea of GG…and your sense of humour.
Ben, what you’re saying isn’t just true for gardening, but for the human experience in general.
American culture in particular is steeped in toxic positivity, where people often hold you at a distance for acknowledging the little tragedies of life unless you’re willing in the same breath to shift focus to an upside. and I’m somewhat relieved to hear the UK is not immune to this. It’s true that we learn from mistakes, and tragedy often presages a triumph, blah blah blah, but you are entirely correct that it’s misguided to deny, rush through, or otherwise sidestep the less pleasant emotions. The lessons from tragedy needs to come after we’ve managed to feel and acknowledge the tragedy.
Negative experiences aren’t inherently toxic. However, refusing to face, feel, and accept them most certainly is.
I can’t help thinking that the negatives, in gardening and in life, help us to have a greater experience of the positives.
If it’s all good all the time then we end up chasing new things instead of having a good experience of what we’ve got at hand.
Every autumn, in between that joyous reddening leaves/cool days/pretty pumpkin phase, and true autumn — cold/decay/realizing you forgot to have the chimney swept, I have to make a serious mental shift to the cold times — and it takes me a couple weeks of feeling cold and irritated and unhappy with the state of everything before I recognize what’s going on. Every year.
Once I’ve figured it out, and start dressing in warm layers and gloves and hat, I’m golden, and start to get things done again.
Unfortunately this year, I started the irritation phase, and then promptly left to visit my family in warm California. It’s going to make the next few weeks back in Virginia, and then in UK (where you are predicted to have ‘arctic storms’) a shiver fest of irritation. Preparing the woolen layers for [hopefully] a swift transition.
And yes, share the moans!! Good to know one isn’t alone. — MW
A problem shared is a problem halved, or something to that effect…
Enjoy your time away, although the thought of returning to cold must be unsettling.
Of course there are things to whine about, but I choose to be thankful and appreciative of the joys my garden brings and the ability to get out there and be in my garden. Those joys far outweigh the moans.
Agreed, Ben. Actually, if I look back through my garden journals, I do a fair amount of gardening in the winter, and enjoy each day that I am able to be out! Maybe the beauty and excited anticipation of early spring is still far off, it satisfies me to tidy & make changes.
Gardening for me is “the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat,” and I’m totally fine with feeling things intensely. Absolute delight and wonder as I watch seedlings sprout and bumblebees roll in crocus pollen every spring. Mild devastation at the presence of hungry pests or the loss of basically any plant I grew from seed. I just don’t get people who see plants as neutral – I am far too passionate about them.