I have had a garden since I bought my second house in Norton. I lived then at the edge of a development where my house looked just like the 200 others in that
neighborhood. We thought it was in the sticks then because the
neighborhood did not have any sidewalks or that many street lights as compared to our first house in
Attleboro.
I started out with a very small plot-finding an old garden there by the side of a meandering river that bordered my property. I carefully cut it all out until I had excavated the whole original plot. I found the remnants of old carrots and other small herbs. It quickly grew into an obsession. After I fenced in that small section, it was not enough. I had to learn about gardening. The most that my own mother had was a few
tomato plants and strawberry plants that edged the pool area. I thought how much could gardening change in thousands of years, so I went to the used book store and stockpiled up on it all. I bought books on local herbs that grew in the wild as well and soon started a herb garden on the side and filled it with relocated herbs from the woods that I found. I then decided on adding more to that as well. I found what I called my
hippy garden store called "Seven Arrows" in
Rehoboth, Mass and spent
oodles of money on herbs like
Goldenseal (very rare), cooking herbs and medicinal plants as well.
While my garden grew larger each year, I had to fence it all due to the infamous problem in the
suburbs with deer. My garden had gradually become a complicated
labyrinth. With the herbs I fast learned how to make my own concoctions like my infamous "Stinky sock tea" because it smelled like stinky socks-though packed a
wallop on stress (I had to spend a lot of time in court during a very messy
divorce and it helped me survive the courtroom). I learned how to make teas for depression and to sleep at night. I also learned to grow herbs to add to salads and my cooking. I
experimented a lot with all that I learned and it became a large part of who I am. my salads and teas became famous. My friends loved to see my garden in all of its stages of development of the feasts that I would have with the final harvest.
During all of this I was working on the family
genealogy and had discovered that I was a direct descendant of Louis Hebert and Marie
Rollet Hebert of Canada. They had come out to Quebec in 1604 and onwards with Champlain. Louis was known as the first
successful farmer and apothecary (
Medieval druggist) in New France, while Marie is known as the first French Woman to cultivate the Canadian soil. I held that knowledge close to me and worked it all into my garden projects.
I have almost always been a single mother with not that much money and had learned to do a lot for myself. I cut each section of those gardens by hand with my great
grandfather's antiquated farm tools. I literally put blood, sweat and tears into each layer of soil that I tilled and cultivated myself. I took enormous pride in each harvest which was more wonderful than the last. I was very proud and felt a close kinship to my ancestors in my growing love for my gardens. I would put a lot of work into it-starting seedlings in my house by the sliding doors and adding them in a well-planned garden. I was thankful that if anything in my garden failed-I could buy it at the supermarket. Unlike my ancestors-who would starve-literally! I would pray to them in my work and I have dedicated each garden to them.
I had also been noted by my neighbors in my growing garden and playfully called it "my crops"-not many gardens in that
neighborhood-if any were that size. I did use Miracle grow though, I
didn't know better. I was also constantly trying new experiments with irrigation that my neighbors loved to witness and tease me about. I had an accountant who lived next door and he would walk over to see the latest project that I had rigged up and would nod his head and smile. One time I had brought out kitchen chairs and had tied poles to them and strung a garden hose that I
poked with small holes that I rigged up over the garden to sprinkle down upon it. He loved that one. I cried when it had all come tumbling down with the first windstorm. My carpentry skills are not that great.
I never forced gardening on my children or made them weed as a punishment. I wanted them to be curious on their own by my love and dedication to the gardens. It worked, slowly they would come by my side and ask to help. I would find them sneaking chives, sugar snaps or cherry tomatoes- and I would smile. They would ask me about the plants and what they were for.
They would talk with me while I weeded my gardens and ask me all about it. I told them how important it was to weed around the plants, so they would have room to grow tall and strong. They would bring their friends over to see and help me with filling my house with flowers each week.
When I moved to Maine my garden took on another form. It became more natural and raw. I no longer stocked it with exotic herbs from stores-they did not have them up here. I never used Miracle Grow (I could not afford it for the huge size of my new garden)-I used manure from my chickens, bunnies, llamas and sheep-which I had an abundance of form cleaning the stalls. I took great effort to transplant the herbs that would grow in this zone. Very few of them have survived this harsh climate and shorter growing season. My garden in Maine is plowed by an actual plow-since it is much bigger now (I have a lot more land) and the vegetables are for survival and not prettiness. I still have my herb garden, though do not have time to add this while I work on my
monster herb garden. My herb garden was on the
side of the house and had even grown potatoes in it at one time! It is Maine! I have never had to fence it in since there is no
competition from deer or Moose-too much wilderness in just my backyard alone (120 acres).
Since I have had my garden I consider it my legacy, my passion, and my meditation. I have never felt closer spiritually and with the seasons that I am in my garden. When I am out there I feel a deep connection to the soil. My fear of bees
disappears-since in my garden they are working with me and are there to pollinate. I am out in the early morning and come out with the mist that comes down from the mountains. I feel the moon on my back telling me to go inside that my day is done. When I weed-it is not a chore, it is required. I want my plants tall and strong. I no longer use a hoe-but get down on my hands and knees and dig my fingers into the soil around each plant lovingly. My garden is my peace, my sanctuary, my legacy. I can cry into it all of my
sadness and take great pride in all of the wonderful food that I can put on the table-lasting long into the winter. I mix in the soil manure from my sheep and till it in deep, nourishing all of my hopes and dreams. This is one of the many reasons that I have moved to Maine. For only here have I been able to find my true garden and the meaning of it to my soul.
