Our Country Home 2024

In service to propagation

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My garden is as big as a church sanctuary.
Measuring in at 1,000 square feet, it has expanded twice in the last 27 years.
It’s not a fancy garden; it’s utilitarian. We grow vegetables. Utilizing raised beds, large defined growing spaces and paths, we have eliminated tilling. With smaller defined spaces, we’re in much better shape in terms of weed control and ease of improving the soil.

Green onions, grown from bulbs that were missed in harvesting. A second-year onion immediately throws out a seed pod. There the seeds gather, eager to reproduce.
Green onions, grown from bulbs that were missed in harvesting. A second-year onion immediately throws out a seed pod. There the seeds gather, eager …

Because we grow small amounts of numerous varieties of vegetables, we are not swamped with preserving food. I do small batches of blanching and freezing, a couple of packages of string beans here, chopping and freezing some bok choy there. Tightly rolling up herbs—dill, cilantro, mint and basil—in a plastic recloseable bag and freezing, making available “fresh herbs” which are ready to chop and use throughout the non-growing seasons.
It’s all part of a lifestyle. I tease that some people have boats, and I have a garden.

I love my garden. It is my produce aisle and muse in the summer and my freezer aisle in the winter. It allows me to be generous. It is my palette as I assemble small boxes of vegetables to give away. It is an opportunity to marvel at the innate wisdom of plants, hard-coded to reproduce and grow.
Working with the soil and tending the plants is a positive circle of giving. We feed the plants; they feed us. Our labors allow us to reflect on the great abundance all around us. And in this global climate chaos and war, it reminds us how incredibly fortunate we are to live in the Upper Delaware River Valley.
Of course, gardens are not without challenges and frustrations. Last year, Stephen planted a three-sister garden patch—five circles of corn and pole beans, with pumpkins underneath. Just when the 74 ears of corn were ready to be harvested (we had picked six), we woke up to plant carnage. A raccoon climbed the nine-foot fence and destroyed every last ear of corn, and simultaneously taking down the green beans. (Animals can smell what’s ripe and time their attack right before you are ready to harvest.) That morning, Stephen asked me if I wanted bad news before or after my coffee.
The garden is a learning ground.
From lessons about the soil, natural pest control and crop rotation, to larger wisdom that can be gleaned from watching the plants relentlessly reach for the sun, for their yearning to propagate and live to their potential, the garden provides.
It is a sanctuary, a growing space to connect with the energy that sustains us all.

garden, Laurie Stuart, Our Country Home, spirituality

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