This afternoon, as light snow fell and melted on the ground,   I went to the shed to look in on my crate of lettuce seedlings. The shed is solar heated, and last year by mid-February the temperatures didn’t fall much below 35 f. This made us decide to see if we could grow an early crop of salad greens. If it works, I plan to cover the bench with crates in the fall and spring to see just how much food we can raise here over the winter.

The arugula was the first to sprout, and continues to be the overachiever in this group. All of the seedlings are very small, however, and it’s amazing to me that they are developing at all given our cloudy, cold weather. This past week there hasn’t been much sunshine to provide that solar heating.

After checking that the seed-starting medium is still damp, I stop for a minute to consider these tiny plants. They have such promise but are still so small…once the sun comes out I’ll need to be sure that the soil doesn’t get too dry.

These seedlings remind me that anything new – jobs, projects, friendships, quests, etc – need extra attention. I think of my friend who wisely decided to schedule the next family gathering on a date that was most convenient to her new daughter-in-law.

We are called to think about what we want to grow, and once we’re clear about this, we’re wise to know that extra focus and flexibility will be needed.

See how the arugula is stronger than the other greens?

If this crate of greens is successful, next fall and winter I'll fill the entire shed with stretch-the-seasons edibles.

Two days past Thanksgiving finds me thinking that growing a garden is very similar to cultivating relationships with the people we are connected to.

New friends or family members, like young seedlings, need special attention. Behavior, comments and occasional lapses of consideration might be understood or excused by long-term friends and family, but misconstrued by those who are just getting to know you.

Seedlings are likely to dry up if left too long without water, and grow weak if the light isn’t strong enough. Relationships also need a special awareness in the early stages. Anyone who has started off on the wrong foot with his or her in-laws knows what I’m talking about. In the early days of growth it’s important to tend things carefully.

Once a garden is planted and growing, ongoing maintenance is crucial. Weeds need to be pulled, plants pruned, and soil kept healthy with applications of compost. Friends and family must be looked after too. We need to remove the weeds of misunderstanding, eliminate behaviors that might hurt others, and apply the good wishes and understanding that will foster growth.

Gardens need our particular focus in times of stress. We water during a drought, and brush heavy snows off shrubs so that the branches aren’t broken. Relations and friends need extra help in difficult periods as well.

Reminder to self:  plant and tend all gardens wisely.

New plants and new relationships need careful tending...

if we make the effort to help deep roots form, growth will be stronger.

Once things are blooming, we need to weed, keep the soil healthy and be ready to help in stressful times.

I can’t imagine that there is a person on this planet that hasn’t sown seeds that failed to germinate. I’m not just talking about seeds that grow into plants, but of all the things we try to grow, in and out of our gardens.

A reader of this blog recently sent me an open-hearted and touching email that listed many of the things she’d tried to grow in her 40 odd years that hadn’t developed as she’d hoped they would. I thought, “Yup. I can totally relate to that.”

If I had to list every art exhibit I entered that I didn’t get accepted to, every novel I’ve started, and each book proposal/query I’ve mailed, not to mention the host of other projects and ideas that went only so far and then withered, the list would be long enough to fill this blog for many months to come. Really.

Gardeners learn early on that it’s probably a good idea to focus on those things that did grow, not the seeds or plants that failed to thrive. Although I’ve had many plants that have died  or seeds that didn’t sprout, honestly, I’ve probably had greater success in the garden than I have with the things I’ve tried to grow in other areas of my life.

So why keep planting? Why have those ideas, send out those queries, or start a new pursuit? Alfred Lord Tennyson said it best when he wrote, “’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” It’s better to have created and failed than to not create/think/dream at all.

There is something so life affirming about trying that it’s preferable to have made that effort than not to have acted. The very act of saying yes to the creative process, of being willing to sow seeds and eager to see if something will germinate, this enthusiasm to grow benefits us in ways that far exceed the results of our actions.

In our willingness to try, in our keenness to sow seeds, we are saying yes to life itself.

Some of these seedlings that I started will flourish, and others will die. I have no idea which ones will thrive, but the act of planting seeds and seeing them grow into these seedlings is satisfying in itself. After that, it's a matter of faith and hope.

Early in the season when all the plants are young and new, we have no idea how, or if, they will develop. Perhaps it's smart to carry spring's optimism into the rest of our lives, being willing to sow seeds and plant young ideas, trusting that something will grow.

      I was clearing out the front garden last week, pulling oak leaves from where they had caught in the stems of ‘Carefree Celebration’ Roses and Russian sage. I piled the brown leaves in the garden cart and once it was full, pulled them to the side yard where they could be dumped. As the leaves started to spill from the tipped cart, I looked down and noticed that there were dozens of columbine seedlings growing at my feet.

       Clearly, I must have thrown some excess Aquilegia seeds into this part of the garden last year. When I’m planting seeds in the early spring and have too many for the pots and packs that I’ve filled with starting mix, I’ll often toss those odds and ends into the landscape. In addition to leftovers, I’ve found forgotten seed packages whose contents are a year or two old. Knowing that some of these seeds might be viable, I’ll spread them in the garden as well.

     I don’t prepare or loosen the soil for these excess seeds. I simply toss them into the landscape where they must fend for themselves. They’ll either grow, or they won’t, right?  Better to have them out of the envelope and onto the soil, I think, and better to be hopeful and assume that those seeds will germinate.

       In other areas of my life I might take a similar approach. A query letter or media pitch is sent out without expectation of a positive response. A lunch or dinner invitation is given, because perhaps such a meeting will grow into a real friendship. “Let’s get a group together and try this,” I might propose, because you never know when something special will germinate.

       Those columbine seedlings remind me, however, that in order to take full advantage of this optimistic broadcast, I need to pay attention. It’s usually not enough to spread seeds and move on, oblivious to whether they sprout or die. New seedlings benefit from regular water when it doesn’t rain, a top dressing of compost, and the removal of weedy competitors.

       Follow up is important, in and out of the garden. Perhaps a second letter should be written, a second and third lunch date made, and continued focus placed on group goals. Some things grow against all odds, but others need tending. No matter how the seeds were initially planted, we may need to nurture what we want to grow. 

Sometimes things grow with little care or attention, thriving against all odds, but more frequently, a bit of care will make what I've planted flourish.