I used to be a rather proud gardener.
When we lived in the city I was the only one who gardened on my street, actually the only one on the entire block.
I was the one with a compost bin and fresh vegetables to share.
I had raised beds and my copy of Square Foot Gardening by Mel Bartholomew was dog eared and well-used.
I was the expert.
That all changed when we moved to the country.
I actually have a huge garden plot. But now, instead of nice black topsoil, I battle heavy clay and rocks.
I still have a compost pile, but the chickens get most of the scraps I throw on it.
And the critters! I’ve lost more crops to raccoons, deer and rabbits then I’ve harvested.
Here, most of my neighbors have been gardening since before I was alive. They actually know what they are doing. They have somehow figured out to make things grow in this clay-like soil we have.
Their gardens look good in every season! Their peas are trellised, their rows are weed free and they even plant flowers when the vegetables are done for the season! Heavy sigh…
My garden is now in the back of the house, totally hidden from the road and I’m the one receiving their extra bounty.
I’m thankful for their wisdom and the horse manure they share on occasion, but I’m definitely humbled.
It’s a whole new gardening world here – and I’m slowly learning.