Gardening vs Writing

The South Vegetable Garden, 2022

June is a busy month in my garden, perhaps not the best time to start a writing blog. This morning, as usual, I strolled up and down the long rows harvesting the day’s vegetables—asparagus for a stir-fry; lettuce, radishes, green onions, cilantro, dill, and mint for salads. It’s a pleasant task, but one that lowers my daily word count. Then there are the weeds that torment me with their presence. Now that the ground is dry enough after recent rains, I face the prospect of many, many hours in close contact with a hoe. And, unless it rains again soon, I will have to resume hauling pails of water to the pots of flowers and other annuals scattered around my yard.

Gardening is a fierce competitor for my time. For most of my adult life, it dominated my summer. Now that I’m working on a second novel (as I wait to hear from a publisher for my first), I sometimes begrudge the hours I must spend away from my desk. I remind myself that I like raising food and take pleasure in maintaining a green oasis on what used to be my father’s wheatfield. Someday I will have to leave it for a smaller, more convenient place in the city. While I look forward to the social and cultural perks, I will miss the quiet spaciousness of the country.  In the meantime, it makes sense for me to enjoy—if sometimes reluctantly—the beauty and abundance of what I have now.