Gardening in the Pandemic

Summer has come right on schedule. Yesterday, the day after Memorial Day, our long cool spring vanished as temperatures in the mid-80’s swept into the region. I’ve been longing for warmer weather, but this was a little more than I bargained for. I spent an anxious half hour in the mid-afternoon watering my transplanted marigolds, sweet alyssum and black-eyed susan’s that had all swooned in the afternoon heat. In a week or so we’ll be fine—I’ll be used to my watering routine and they’ll be used to the heat, but yesterday was a near calamity.

Over the holiday weekend, it was all I could do to stay away from garden centers once I heard they were open again. One of our local places, Robinson’s Greenhouse, is a family owned business that usually has greenhouses filled with four-inch pots filled with begonias, petunias, coleus and all kinds of other wondrous annual and perennial plants and flowers. My yearly spring visit(s) to them are time of anticipation and joy.

I have learned to go alone because I love to walk slowly up and down the long aisles. I imagine the pots and places I want fill. I go to my old stand-bys and keep my eyes open for new recruits. Robinson’s takes wonderful care of their plants, both in the tending and the displaying so I love just being in the presence of so many lively little green beings. The light reflecting off of a greenhouse full of new leaves. The moist air that holds the smell of humus, plants and flowers is intoxicating to a life-long gardener like me.   So many of each variety, all the same and yet each one slightly different. I even enjoy making sure I get the best and brightest of each kind I choose.

But I broke down on Monday afternoon, figuring that all the conscientious gardeners had bought their plants on Saturday or Sunday, or at least by Monday morning, so there would be fewer people and less risk involved in the trip. I was right and when I arrived at three o’clock, there were only half a dozen cars in the lot that is often filled to overflowing. The grounds and the greenhouses were mostly open.

I put on my mask anyway.

It’s hard to judge the danger level these days. With the virus being invisible and infectious for ten days before displaying symptoms, anyone could have it. Catching the virus is related to vulnerability, proximity, length of exposure and concentration of the virus. So being a relatively healthy person, being outside for a short time at some distance from others should be quite safe. ‘Should be’ is the operative word here.

There’s an old saying: ‘It’s not wise to try to cross a river of an average depth of four feet.’ Averages, percentages and projections can be quite accurate, but as a particular individual I can never know which of the categories I will fall into. If I have only a 5% chance of catching caronavirus, that’s good news, but it doesn’t tell me if I’ll end up in the 5% group or in the 95% group. Caution is advisable, but how much? Life is a risk. But how much risk is acceptable? Or wise? Or necessary?

But I was in the middle of telling you about the greenhouse when the pandemic inserted itself and I’m determined to return to where I was (as safely as I can). The greenhouses themselves were about one third filled – whether this was from the amount they had sold over the weekend or because they did not grow as much as usual, I’m not sure. I hope it was the former as I dream of many more trips to Robinson’s in the future.

I didn’t dally at the greenhouse. I got a dozen or so plants to fill the pots I strategically place around to beautify Temple. I grew my own petunias this year, they’re already in their usual pots on the access ramp, but I didn’t know that the compact habit of the ones I buy from Robinson’s are the product of their expert pruning to encourage bushiness, so mine, though quite healthy, are a little leggy. Hopefully just an adolescent trait that they will outgrow in the warm weeks to come.

I know I should grow more vegetables, but I am hopelessly infatuated with flowers and leaves and beauty. Each flower, each plant, is a miracle beyond compare—an ongoing stream of energy in the universe. The annuals come into being each year to bloom in wondrous shapes and colors before dying completely. They will die completely by the first frost but will send their energy and wisdom forward to the next year in the tiny space capsules of their seed. I am delighted to be able to be a part of the miracle of it all.

Personal Practice: Help a plant today. We are surrounded by and utterly dependent on the green plants and trees of this world. Look around you today at the amazing variety of shapes, sizes, colors and smells of the plants in your immediate life. Take the time to do something to take care of one of these plants. It might be just brushing off the dust from the leaves of a houseplant—or moving a plant to a better location, inside or in the garden—or watering or making space for plants to grow. Whatever you do, enjoy the privilege of tending the growing world around you.