by Deborah Moucka, Master Gardener
In a world that prizes speed and spectacle, my garden is teaching me the value of patience. Mother Nature has her very own timetable for uncovering some of her most beautiful gifts. And no matter how fast I want things to grow, they will only grow just as fast as they are supposed to grow.
When I planted my Heritage Garden 3 years ago, I was gently advised to be patient. Native plants had their own timetable for establishing themselves. The adage is plants will grow in “a 3-year progression of sleep – creep – leap.” Well! I was used to big box store annuals that would burst into bloom in a single season and spill over my containers.
Oh dear. That was not what the first year of natives was like. They truly sleep. First lesson: tiny little plants, some only 2” tall, interestingly had 8” long roots. This was their way of quietly telling me that this first year was for them to establish themselves in the native soil and prepare to become self-sustaining in the years to come. And for me to be patient.
Winter came. Then year two – creep. My patience is still being challenged. Plants that had been a few inches tall or wide were now 2-3 times bigger, but not what you would consider BIG. There are some blooms, a few. So, I spent time learning about their minimalist selves as they carefully unfolded their delicate foliage and flowers. These natives were much more subtle than showy hybrid annuals. There’s Nodding Onion with their tiny bent heads flowing, Indian Rice Grass with whispering stalks, and Fragrant Evening Primrose showing off a few organza-like white flowers. Happily, the Yarrow was brazen with lots of stocky white blooms! But my long, dedicated garden patch was still looking somewhat barren. And yes, I’m one of those women with my gardening hat and gloves on, hands on hips, out there in the morning light talking sweetly to all those native plants encouraging them to grow, grow, grow. By the end of the summer I could see the promise of what would be. But should I plant more plants or be patient and wait for the leap? I waited.
It’s Spring of year three, time for the promised leap! Every day I’m out in the garden watching. What’s emerging? How big is it? Have I lost a few things? Did all my patience and sweet talking pay off?
It did, and in a huge way! The Fragrant Evening Primrose has multiplied. The Idaho Fescue, Indian Wheatgrass and Blue Bunch Wheatgrass are beautiful clumps. The various penstemons burst into purple and glorious red blooms, with the hummingbirds visiting. The yarrow, unbeknownst to me, went to seed and is now populating a lot more of the garden with its little umbrellas of white blooms. Throughout the stretch of my garden, in some cases plants are bumping shoulders, filling in what were empty spots.
This three-year lesson in patience reminds me of a story I heard one time about the legendary Samurai warriors. It says that after their many years of rigorous training, challenging battles, tireless service, when they stepped away from their service they were honored to become the gardener. It was not a step down, but rather a revered position. I haven’t found any substantiation of this story, but I treasure the underlying concept of their reward for patience.
In my career in the highly competitive world of commercial television, I sometimes felt like I might be a Samurai warrior – immersed in the speed and spectacle, fighting glass ceilings, 80-hour work weeks, maneuvering the politics of corporate structures, bouncing to the next biggest TV station in the next metro area to get promoted, always battling for ratings and revenue. It was tough and yes, fabulously rewarding. Like the Samurai warriors when my career wound down I transitioned to being the gardener, as my reward.
Now, I stand out in my garden, with my gardening hat and gloves, hands on hips, telling all the natives how glorious they are and knowing they have the rest of the summer to grow and bloom even more. I treasure Mother Nature’s gifts, especially the one of patience.