On the garden expansion.
And the joy of learning to do it ourselves.
When we landed on this property at this time last year, everything in our lives felt a bit unsettled. We were leaving behind a version of life that was full and defined, and stepping into something quieter, more open, and a lot more work.
At the very back of the property sat two lonely garden beds, like something that had once mattered and then been forgotten. We added four more, along with a handful of grow bags, not because we had a grand plan, but because in the midst of a massive life change, we needed somewhere to put our energy.
That small garden became more important than I ever expected. It gave our days a rhythm when we were still figuring out what our days even were. It reminded us, over and over again, how generous Mother Nature is. How a tiny seed placed in the ground can give back more than you expect. And how the land doesn’t hold back. It offers what it has, freely and without keeping score.
This year, we’re heading into gardening season more confident and ambitious. We’re taking everything we learned and doing more of it ourselves.
The first step was building eight new garden beds, each one twelve feet by three. Last year, we relied on the guy at Home Depot to do our cuts, but this year we decided to invest in a table saw and figure it out ourselves. What could go wrong?
There was something deeply satisfying about cutting our own wood. When we got here, so much of this felt outside of our skillset. Now, little by little, that’s shifted. It struck me how much we’ve all changed over this past year. The things we care about, how we spend our time and the people who have shared in our adventures.
With the “help” of the kids, we assembled the beds and lined them up in an afternoon, which felt like a small miracle given how long everything took us last year. But the part that really asked something of me was filling them. We calculated that we’d need eight cubic yards of soil to fill the new beds and top up the erosion on the other six.
The ground has been too wet to get the tractor across, so I moved all the soil by hand with the gorilla cart, load by load, from the driveway back to the garden. It took five days of slow, repetitive work, which was challenging physically and mentally. Some people do endurance races. I move soil. I know that every year when I’m planting into these beds, I’ll remember what it took to get them there.
And now, the real work begins. Planting always feels like both a possibility and pressure. I already feel a little behind. Next week, I’ll start getting in the spring crops, garlic, parsnips, peas, carrots, greens, onions, all the things that mark the beginning of the season. With the extra space, we’re also carving out room for a cut flower garden and a pumpkin patch. We’ve covered over more grass too, which means slightly less grass to cut, thank goodness.
Out in the orchard, I’ve pruned the apple and pear trees. They didn’t give us much last year, but I have hope for this year. We have an arborist coming to help guide us with the current orchard and plant three cherry and three peach trees to round out the orchard. Learning from someone who knows, so that one day, we might know too.
And all of this work doesn’t even include clearing out the hundred pounds of leaves from the garden beds, remulching the sugar maples, and all the other quiet spring tasks the land asks of us. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. It feels good to give something back, to work with our hands, to be away from a screen, and care for the land that continues to give so much to us.
Nature offers what it has, again and again, in abundance and without judgment. Seeds become food. Blossoms become fruit. Leaves fall and nurture the earth so it can do it all over again. And most things grow back without us even asking. It really is a beautiful thing, and I’m grateful to be a small part of the cycle.