As Josh and I move ever closer to being self-sufficient in the city,( he's researching household rainwater collection systems at his computer right now), I find myself being more in tune with the seasons and feeling the changes more intensely. Whereas before I would just be annoyed by a lack of sun, I now feel waves of emotion when the sun doesn't shine. I was moved when my apple trees narrowly missed being pollinated and only began growing a handful of apples, and also when my vegetable patch grew moss from the intense rain and I needed to replant until the sun was constant enough to coax the seeds to grow into plants.
My connection to the land has become visceral, and though it's not always pleasant, I'm still happy that I'm able to feel this the way. There's something deeply satisfying to be so literally grounded by this passion.
And though I could be growing winter vegetables now, there's also something wonderful about saying goodbye to the garden for the winter and entering a phase of cosiness and hibernation. It's about feeling the weather get crisper and the leaves get more golden until you can't get away with wearing just a hoody anymore, but you're okay with it. Winter comes and there's finally time to read, catch up with friends and spend more time playing board games with the kids without feeling like you should be outside enjoying the warm weather.
I was so thrilled to grow food this year as I was almost about to give up as I looked at my super weedy plot early this year at nine months pregnant. But I somehow managed, usually with Isla by my side patiently sitting in her bouncy chair with an umbrella balanced on the bricks, as I weeded, laid out brick paths and edges, tenderly put in my seeds and hoped with all my heart that something would grow. And lots eventually did grow. It's amazing how forgiving a garden can be, even for an amateur like me!
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