Creating and Destroying in the Garden

This was the first year I planted what I call a real veggie garden: 3 raised beds and a few in-ground areas for a total of something like 100 square feet. Talk about an awesome, creative, magical experience! In February, there was nothing but dirt, to which compost, seeds, and water were added (plus love and a little elbow grease). Then the sun (fire!) provided the energy, which worked in combination with the innate knowledge of the seeds to grow delicious, nutrient-rich, energy-providing fruits and veggies.

It almost seemed like something from nothing – reminiscent of the old theories of spontaneous creation. Certainly, I was more an observer than a participant in this creative act – though I did provide the water and kept the weeds and snails at bay. But even though my role was relatively minor, it never would have happened without my vision and maintenance. It was a collaboration with nature that taught me a lot about experimenting and patience.

Then this weekend, I tore most of it out. It’s late September now, so the summer veggies are ending and it’s time to sow the seeds for the fall/winter crops. The plants seem to have their own internal cues, or maybe they’re just reacting to the shortening hours of daylight. Either way, they begin to whither and brown. Some of them exhibited a final burst of creativity, shooting out one last set of flowers. Some of them even had fruit on them when I pulled them from their earthen home, shaking the soil off their roots, returning it to the beds. Dust to dust (or in this case, dirt to dirt).

Since I live in southern California, this will happen at least twice a year: pulling out the previous season’s crops to make space for the new ones. The spent plants will become mulch to fortify the soil and the cycle will repeat itself… creating and destroying and creating again. In some places, they still burn the dried remains to release any stored nutrients (I love it: potential energy being released to the earth by fire!), but in fire-prone southern California that isn’t a good idea. So I content myself with composting. The worms are very happy about that.

So I once again have a blank slate. What will I plant? What will I try this time? My success will partly be dictated by the season (“For everything… there is a season”). Were I to plant corn now, it would surely fail, even though I harvested a dozen or so delicious juicy ears a few months ago. Should I allow my culinary desires to take precedence, I might plant buttery lima beans – but again, I would be disappointed. So, instead, I’ll opt for beets, cauliflower, kale, and other greens which won’t even sprout in warmer temperatures.

The lesson in this, for me, is that not only must one make space for new creations, but when those creations are a collaborative process, timing and agreement are everything.