Confessions of the World’s Most Awkward Gardener

Confessions of the World’s Most Awkward Gardener

My garden and I have a bit of an understanding. It keeps surprising me, and I keep trying not to accidentally dig something up that was supposed to stay in the ground.

If there were awards for awkward gardening, I’m fairly certain I’d be bringing home the gold medal. And if you know me, you know I can turn just about anything into a competition.

I’m not talking about forgetting to water a plant once in a while. I mean the kind of awkward that involves wandering around the yard with a flower in one hand and a trowel in the other for twenty minutes because I just know there’s a perfect spot for it… somewhere.

I just haven’t found it yet.

And then, just as I decide, “This is it! This is the perfect place,” I start digging only to discover a mystery bulb patiently waiting beneath the soil.

Apparently, the previous homeowner had a vision. I’m just the the new groundskeeper trying not to mess it up. Now I’m left standing there with a flower in one hand, a hole that can’t be used, and the realization that my garden is making the decisions—not me.

The truth is, this is my first season with a brand-new-to-me garden.

Every day feels a little like opening a surprise package. I never quite know what’s going to pop up next. One week it’s a beautiful Rudebekia. The next it’s a cluster of daffodils I had no idea were there. Then there are the tiny little plants that quietly appear, looking suspiciously like weeds.

At least… that’s what I think they are.

I’ve learned not to be too quick to pull anything anymore. More than once I’ve looked at a little green sprout and thought, Well, you’re definitely not supposed to be here. Thankfully, I’ve learned to wait. Because just when I’m convinced I’ve found another weed, the sweetest little pink flower peeks through the leaves, quietly reminding me that I don’t actually know what I’m looking at.

I usually apologize… and thank it for being far more patient with me than I was with it.

I’m convinced my garden has developed a sense of humour. My gardening style could best be described as “organized confusion.”

I buy flowers because they’re pretty.

I carry them around the yard.

I change my mind three or four times.

I dig.

I find a bulb.

I fill the hole back in.

I repeat the process somewhere else.

Eventually, everything finds a home… usually.

There are plenty of breaks mixed in too. Living with MS means I don’t garden the way I used to imagine I would. Some days I plant one flower and call it a success. Other days I spend more time sitting on the porch admiring what I’ve already done than actually digging.

And you know what?

I’ve realized that’s okay. This garden isn’t a race. It doesn’t care if I plant one flower or twenty.

It simply keeps growing.

I’ve also discovered that I spend almost as much time taking pictures as I do gardening. Every new bloom deserves its own little photo shoot. The morning light is different from the evening light, and somehow I convince myself that everyone else will be just as excited about that tiny blossom as I am.

So far… all of my plants have been wonderfully encouraging, and for that, I thank you.

What surprises me most about gardening isn’t how much there is to learn. It’s how forgiving a garden can be.

Flowers bloom whether I know all their names or not.

Bulbs patiently wait underground until the season is right.

Tiny plants I almost mistake for weeds quietly become some of my favourites.

The garden doesn’t expect perfection. It simply asks me to show up.

Maybe that’s why I love it so much.

Life has taught me that not everything needs to be perfectly planned to become beautiful. It’s taught me that sometimes the best surprises are the ones waiting just beneath the surface. Sometimes the flowers we almost overlooked become the ones we love the most. And sometimes the world’s most awkward gardener ends up with a garden that’s blooming anyway.

If you’ll excuse me, I have one more flower to plant…..assuming I don’t discover another mystery bulb first.

A Recipe Worth Waiting 42 Years For

Every recipe has a story, and this one has been 42 years in the making.

More than four decades ago, I was having lunch at a friend’s home on Salt Spring Island. She served a simple salad with the most incredible dressing I’d ever tasted. Naturally, I asked for the recipe.

She smiled… and politely said no. It wasn’t because she didn’t like me. The recipe belonged to her mother-in-law, and it was a closely guarded family secret.

So, I accepted defeat. Well… mostly.

I’ll tell you what – For the next 42 years, I never forgot that dressing.

After her mother in law passed away, I decided it couldn’t hurt to ask one more time. This time my friend handed over the recipe, and finally let me in on the family secret. I like to think she would forgive us… but if you happen to hear thunder while you’re whisking it together, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Funny how life comes full circle

Who would have guessed that one lunch on Salt Spring Island all those years ago would one day influence what I’d plant in my own garden? When we moved into our new home, I made sure to plant lovage specifically so I could make this dressing whenever I wanted. Now, every summer I wander into the garden, snip fresh lovage, parsley, and oregano, and bring them straight into my kitchen.

Every time I make it, I’m reminded that the very best recipes are about more than the ingredients. They’re about the people who shared them, the memories they hold, and the stories they carry from one generation to the next.

This dressing is bright, fresh, and full of summer flavour—but to me, it also tastes a little like friendship, a little like patience… and just a tiny bit like finally winning after a 42-year wait.

Fresh from the garden, treasured for 42 years, and finally shared.