When The Berkshire Edge asked me if I would be interested in writing a column about gardening, I was flattered but could not imagine what I had to share with others about gardening that they did not already know, and then wondered, more importantly, if gardening can even be taught? To the first point, surely, there were landscape architects, botanists, garden designers, and horticulturists who knew so much more than I did. But it was in this moment that I realized that none of us gardens alone, and that writing about gardening is no different. Gardening is fundamentally about honing our own skills of observation and experimentation, researching and following tried and true practices, and coming to understand our sense of aesthetics, but these skills are not acquired in a vacuum.
Although we often work in our gardens alone, quietly weeding, mulching, and sowing seeds in a way that almost feels spiritual, we have endless access to information and people that help us to understand the art and science of gardening – from bloggers and gardening books to public television and classes at garden centers, universities, and botanical gardens. In this sense, I feel like I have had a charmed life, for in my past as an editor, writer, and television producer, and then working in public horticulture with the Garden Conservancy, Seed Saver’s Exchange, and the Berkshire Botanical Garden, I have met myriad gardeners, scientists, and artists who are the masters of their craft, many of whom I hope will inhabit this column.
And in a time when so many lament the selfishness of others, I have not met many gardeners (with rare exceptions that bear occasional note) who are not as willing to share their advice as easily as they offer up a slip or cutting of a favorite plant. For while we often garden alone, we garden as part of a community at the same time. We share our knowledge, as we share our plants and coveted seeds, so that we can all move forward to be better gardeners ourselves but also as an essential method of preserving and refining time-honored practices. Through the course of history, we have come to understand the scientific underpinnings of some of these practices, but others we just accept and prefer to think of as magical and mysterious – for garden lore is filled with time-honored truths and a mysticism to which we like to cling.
In the past few years, as I worked with the staff of Seed Saver’s Exchange on a book on saving heirloom vegetable seed, I was amazed by what we now know of how seeds are created and how they come true-to-type (meaning that they have the same qualities as other seeds of the same variety of plant, such as the wonderful fruits of a ‘Georgia Peach’ tomato). For with a deeper understanding of genetics and the sexual reproduction of plants, we now have measured ways of managing the creation of seeds. This understanding also has allowed us to create hybrids and their more controversial GMO counterparts. But what is more magical, and illuminating, is the sense of being overwhelmed by our forbears — farmers and gardeners alike — who did not have any understanding of genetic inheritance or mating strategies, but, who through close observation, were able to come to understand how to maintain the cherished qualities of a favorite bean or tomato for generations. For it is these skills that make a gardener masterful and make the art and practice of gardening magical and mysterious.
With this column, I hope to harness both of those forces to learn how to be a better gardener myself, to explore both the science and the magic of gardening, and to share that knowledge with others. For at heart, I am a gardener and this generosity of spirit is the trait that we strive to maintain most in our breed.
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A gardener grows through observation, experimentation, and learning from the failures, triumphs, and hard work of oneself and others. In this sense, all gardeners are self-taught, while at the same time intrinsically connected to a tradition and a community that finds satisfaction through working the soil and sharing their experiences with one another. This column explores those relationships and how we learn about the world around us from plants and our fellow gardeners.
