From the Archives: 2012 | How Does Your Garden Grow?

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I’ve written recently on values driven planning and decision making as an introduction to my systems consulting seminars. Much of my research and writing has revolved around women and work, specifically work/life integration. For many women, including me, there isn’t a balance between home and work—especially if your place of business is in your home—fax machines, phone lines, employees, and the like. The kitchen sink and the laundry room sometimes double as executive dining area and conference room. Here’s where my garden comes to mind.

My gardens are an extension of my home and our family life. I have learned so much from gardening over the years and I hope one day to write and illustrate my life lessons from digging in the dirt. But for now, I have this part to share and look forward to hearing back from you about your garden/life experiences.

Recently my cousin took ill, and I joined many family members in caring for him. We each have different skills and levels of involvement with his care. The medical, social, emotional, psychological, and business coordination is staggering for those involved. But aside from the painful aspects of caring for a loved one in difficult, compromised circumstances, I’ve observed how life is like a garden that each one of us plants. Over time we each reap what we have sown despite the hardships of nature. The benefit of a fruitful harvest doesn’t happen by an accident of nature, nor does nature’s cooperation guarantee a bountiful harvest. Many a garden has overcome drought, disease, and occasional lack of care. But no garden thrives without nurturing, in addition to nature’s benevolence.

There is a great deal written about nature vs. nurture, but anyone who has lived long enough doesn’t need to read a book to know it takes both.

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Observing this garden metaphor in others’ lives, including my cousin’s, has provided rich fodder for a book. But tying this part to my life and the values program I teach is more complicated. Dirty hands in the soil are a different teacher from cut flowers in a vase.

My decision to help my cousin battle his disease came without hesitation, but not without limits. I have responsibilities to my husband, children, parents, work, and like other adults, many other demands of a complicated and fast moving world. But my life’s garden also includes a single adult cousin whose sister lives out of town and whose octogenarian parents are fragile. I do my part, report my observations to whoever is next in the succession of his care, return to my regular life, and lose more sleep than usual worrying that I attended to him with the care he has earned and dignity he deserves from me and everyone else around him.  

There is no balance or fair play in gardens or in life, only the hope and love of both. That hope is what drives us to wake up each day and give it our all. I show up in the dirt because it often yields beauty that defies description. I wait each season full of hope for the joy of the first scented blossom. The memory of a magnificent blooming season can permanently shutter the disappointments of a dreadful harvest. And for that joy, I turn the soil each season, smile at the worms and birds (those hardworking aerators) and move when the bees come in to do their work, annoying as they can be. The hummingbirds and frogs and even the snakes are welcome homesteaders in my garden, because, along with the multitude of the garden’s inhabitants, we work together to bring a bounty of beauty and plenty.

I am hopeful that while I have taken leave of some of my l life’s normal activities and responsibilities to turn the soil of my extended family garden, all will be well in the next season. I’m looking forward to the blossoms. And that’s how my garden grows.