Happy thoughts of damp gardens

I’m quite sure that our delights and tolerances as adults have their origins in our childhood.

I clearly remember making what I considered to be my first garden. It was planted amidst the exposed roots of a giant hemlock tree in the forests of Prince William Sound. For those unfamiliar with this habitat it may sound wonderfully exotic, which it is in a damp, always raining sort of way. What I remember about this experience is not the rain but the thrill of creation; the sheer pleasure of working with rocks and musty mulch, which my mother taught me to collect from the forest floor. I was quite young, perhaps less than 10 years old, but still have vivid memories of creating this garden. Oddly, I have no recollection of working in the rain, yet I must have. It was Cordova, after all, the home of record rainfalls, even for Prince William Sound. I believe this selective memory says volumes.

Even today, I am far more interested in getting things done rather than waiting for perfect conditions before the first move is made. I am delighted when working with stones, mounding and digging earth, creating a natural hillside from dead wood, moss, and lichen, but fall short of caring too much what the weather is like while doing so. The overall creation controls me, capturing my mind and along with it, my body. Not always so good for those working with me who are actually bothered by the rain running down their backs or the cold turning their fingers to stone. In my obsessive oblivion I am warm and happy, unaware of the passing of time, of the cold, of the wet; concerned with only one thing: The creation itself.

Nothing gives me quite the same feeling as walking a garden and collecting the visual snapshots from every glance and corner. Many a time I have made this walk after a long day of physical labor, too sore to hobble, too tired to think, but too excited to wait until tomorrow to take in the progress of the day. What a finale! What a reward!

Gardens speak to us, especially through water, and water does not always come from the ground.

As an avid non-appreciator of the sun, this damp is my world. But I know that most of you would prefer a little more heat. Perhaps my reality, though I admit, hopelessly optimistic, will be of some cheer. Or maybe you’ll just want to throw a pitchfork at me. Either way, this is for you.

Gardening is not always about the gardener. Look at the largest garden of all — the woods that surround us. They haven’t been this green and healthy for years. The bugs are down, the ferns are up and the trees, for the first time in a long, long time, have moisture to their deepest reach. How happy they must be.

How much money have you saved on watering? Bug control? (Well, maybe slugs are the exception here). I don’t know about your perennials and shrubs, but after a slow start this spring, mine are seriously contented. Lush green leaves without tip burn, rust problems or blisters. No grasshoppers chomping them down, no spider mites, no scale. Even the worms are off their game a bit.

Please don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying all smells like roses (although don’t they have so much more smell on a damp year?), I’m just asking that you look at the positive.

No sprinklers cluttering up your lawn, no hoses laying about to trip Grandma when she pops in for a visit. A little tough to find a dry moment to mow, but you can’t have everything.

It is best, I think, to relax and welcome what comes.

Hide in your garden journal if you must, but do relax. Being uptight about the weather is just not worth it. I’ve practiced this advice for years of too-warm summers, now it’s your turn.

All of this water is a wonderful thing that gives our gardens a valuable reprieve from persistent heat and us valuable time to do things other than tend a constantly thirsty pot of pansies.

“No more rain!” you say, “No more!”

I say be happy with what you have.

Beauty is truly in our hearts and our attitude. If we choose to hate rain, we will. If we choose to embrace it for its cleansing, life sustaining goodness, we will be embracing life itself.

Good thoughts for a dreary day.

Sally Koppenberg is a garden and food designer. She is the owner of Stonehill Gardens and The Red Beet, nursery and catering companies specializing in Alaska Grown foods, trees, shrubs, perennials and native plants. Contact her at stonehill@gci.net.