I completely lost my gardening enthusiasm the summer my second child was born. Before that, I was making great strides in my green-thumb journey. Seven years prior, we had just moved into our first home, and I dove headfirst into the world of plants. I devoured books, learned the names of flowers beyond just daisies and lilacs, and even managed to stop freaking out over every bug, worm, or spider I encountered. I grew fond of a stunning orange-and-black-striped orb spider that spun its web among our sedum.
We constructed a raised garden bed that yielded an astonishing harvest of cherry tomatoes, quickly realizing we had planted too many. The peonies grew so vigorously that I half-expected them to visit me in my dreams. Most importantly, I discovered a love for weeding, especially the thrill of yanking invasive plants from the ground. I spent days battling a bittersweet vine that had completely smothered a lilac bush. Oh, the satisfaction!
The arrival of my first child and a big move across the country slowed my gardening efforts, but I still held on to my passion. Time was scarce, but I found moments to fit in some gardening. Our new house came with a perennial garden that had turned wild, offering plenty of weeding opportunities. I’d sneak in gardening during nap times and tried to coax my toddler to join me. I got a bit too enthusiastic and accidentally uprooted a young peony and a bunch of grape hyacinths—my mom brain was to blame.
In the summer of 2002, as I awaited my second son’s arrival, my mother planted a black-eyed Susan in the perennial garden. And that was it—the last new addition for years. Once Theo arrived mid-summer, my gardening season was effectively over. I thought I’d jump back into it the next year, but my gardening spark had vanished. Each spring I’d tell myself this would be the year I’d finally conquer the weeds, but my efforts were lackluster at best—what I now call “accidental weeding.” I still admired the flowers that bloomed effortlessly on their own. The daffodils brightened spring, orange day lilies heralded summer’s arrival, and the dark pink Asiatic lilies never failed to captivate me. Occasionally, I’d think about planting some mums in the fall, but suddenly it would be November, and winter would be knocking at the door.
My husband picked up some of the gardening duties and began planting edibles all over the yard. He wasn’t into neat rows or confined spaces, so snap peas grew along one fence while cucumbers sprawled on the other. The side of the house turned into a patch for tomatoes and a not-so-successful attempt at edamame. A blackberry bush took root in the corner, likely a gift from a passing bird, and my husband decided to let it thrive. It’s now a wild tangle, but it produces plenty of delicious—yet seedy—berries. Meanwhile, the little guy who initially took my gardening spirit began helping his dad, convincing him to try growing things we were never destined to succeed at, like those ill-fated melons. I never really knew what they’d planted, making it a delightful surprise when new plants emerged. The only thing I consistently managed to grow each year was basil—so I hadn’t completely lost my gardening touch!
For years, I assumed I was just failing at life. My messy gardens felt like yet another sign of my shortcomings. Before motherhood, I’d envisioned enjoying long, lazy days with my kids, playing, cooking delightful meals, and teaching them how to care for our little garden oasis. But the reality was far from that. My kids had no interest in the garden, and I wasn’t great at playing with toddlers. No matter what I cooked, they only wanted noodles and Cheerios. In whatever free time I had, I preferred reading, working, and engaging in adult conversations.
Clearly, I had a limited capacity for nurturing living things—two boys and a dog were my max. Anything beyond that, including the garden, had to fend for itself—houseplants were definitely off the table.
Now that my boys are teenagers, their needs have transformed. They seek my presence, guidance, and even my cooking skills. The days of their all-consuming demands for my energy have shifted.
This spring, 13 years later, my gardening passion unexpectedly returned. I decided to clean the siding on the garden side of the house before the hostas made it impossible. I noticed the weeds making an early appearance, even with the snow barely melted. Determined to reclaim the garden, I began pulling weeds with gusto, wanting to clear as many as possible before the lilies-of-the-valley and ferns took over. Once the weeds were gone, bare spots beckoned for new plants. A friend shared some, and I rushed to get them in the ground—well, one didn’t make it. Before I knew it, I was prepping new beds, contemplating colorful annuals, and even spending money at the garden store while daydreaming about bulbs for the fall.
The black-eyed Susan, which I had always thought of as Theo’s plant, is no longer with us. Whether it ran its course or was trampled by boys or accidentally yanked out during one of my gardening flurries, it’s gone. This year, I plan to plant another. Here’s hoping I can keep it thriving until I have grandkids.
If you’re interested in exploring the world of home insemination, check out this post for more insights. You might also want to visit this resource for valuable information on pregnancy and home insemination, or check out Make a Mom for expert guidance on the topic.
Summary:
In this reflective piece, Jamie Greenfield shares her journey of rediscovering her love for gardening after years of being consumed by motherhood. From initially thriving in her garden to losing interest after the birth of her second child, she describes the ups and downs of balancing family life with her passion for plants. As her children grow into teenagers, her gardening spirit is reignited, leading her to embrace the garden once more.