When we first met a decade ago, Briana was in the dream phase of gardening, the all-important time when you’re imagining all the plants you hope to grow one day. I was in a dream phase, too, only mine revolved around shunning society and building a cabin in the woods. Briana reminded me that even hermits should have gardens.
Our very first summer garden was a modest collection of pots on the front stoop of our apartment. Briana filled them with strawberries, mint, and spinach and nicknamed the plants “Death Row” in anticipation of what she believed would be their demise. Sadly, she proved herself right. Everything but the mint failed.
After a neighborhood brawl convinced us to speedily buy a duplex on the other side of town, we hoped that we’d have better luck by establishing some small beds in the sunny front yard. Unfortunately, the woman we shared the building with didn’t like the idea. Since we didn’t feel like antagonizing our new neighbor, Briana attempted to grow tomatoes in the small patch of sunlight that the backyard received. They grew, but poorly. She transplanted her thriving mint from the apartment into a planter box on the back porch, where it continued to grow abundantly. Although our summer lemonade and iced tea were made all the more delicious from the fresh mint leaves, Briana was disappointed with her meager garden.
When we moved to Owl Hill in 2021, Briana was excited to finally have the space to, in her words, “not murder” our plants. We’d given ourselves the ambitious goal of producing 75 percent of our own food. Meat would be a substantial part of that, but we also wanted to grow fruit and vegetables. We knew that it would take years to reach that goal, and we wanted to kick it off right with a big summer garden.
Things did not start well. When we’d first seen the property in August, there was a promising patch of sunny, level lawn next to the two-bay garage at the bottom of the hill. Unfortunately, that promising patch became the leaching field for the new septic system—goodbye, suitable garden location. So, during our first winter, our eyes turned to the side yard. Then spring arrived and the giant maple leafed out, casting everything into shade. Desperate to grow something, Briana bought two large plastic totes, filled them with potting soil, and planted cherry tomatoes. These did well until torrential late summer rains waterlogged the soil and caused the roots to rot.
Heading into our second winter, Briana was determined that the following spring would be the one! She loaded her nightstand with gardening books and purchased seeds, starting trays, soil, and grow lights in an effort to get a head start on the garden before the ground thawed. Where, though, would we plant?
“What about the front yard?” Briana asked me as I lit the woodstove one chilly morning in October 2022.
She explained that it got more sun than any other spot besides the leaching field, that we didn’t have a disgruntled neighbor to keep happy, and, that since we were zoned as “rural,” we didn’t have to worry about our town’s historic preservation ordinances. The only thing we needed to do was build a fence to keep the kids from running into the road, which we did with some T-posts and spare fencing wire left over from another project.
We set to work in the fall, spreading fallen leaves over the grass and setting our chickens to break them down into the earth. The idea was that the shredded leaves and chicken manure would decompose over the winter, leaving us with bare, enriched soil come spring. The plan worked well, although the result was an ugly patch of brown. Briana immediately got to work beautifying the yard by creating beds and paths with the only thing our property naturally grows: rocks. We covered the bed soil in wood chip mulch and planted tomatoes, asparagus, herbs, peas, peppers, radishes, lettuce, strawberries, and carrots. This time around, we hoped, things would work well.
Once again, though, our only success was with the tomatoes and strawberries. The asparagus grew well, too, but it would be at least another year before we’d get a crop. Despite the blessing of another pregnancy, we headed into the next winter with heavy hearts. Were we ever going to grow a good garden? All we could do was cover the beds in mulch and wait for next spring.
