Gardening as cultivation
At its simplest, gardening is the cultivation of life from dirt, of green from brown, of something from nothing, of food from inedible matter, of vitality from the remains of previous generations.

Gardening as nutrition
I harvest the bounty of the garden and make salads, soups, sauces, salsas, stir fries, tortillas, and curries. When I can’t bear to wait, I devour peas, tomatoes, cucumbers, kale, and carrots straight from the vine and the ground. And when I’m sated, I freeze, pickle, can, and dehydrate to sustain me until next year. With each bite, I know my body is absorbing the light of the sun proxied by green leaves into fruit, stems, roots, and seeds.

Gardening as exertion
“Wow, your arms look great! Are you a climber? Have you been working out?” “No, but I’ve been digging, pounding, staking, raking, and weeding.”

Gardening as sensation
Snap - green, sweet, moist. Pop - juicy, red, acidic, sweet. Crunch - sour, bitter, unusual. The hum of bees amidst purple flowers. The warmth of the sun filtered through an emerald canopy. The rustle of wind and the glug of water. The pain as the spines of a defensive plant embed in the skin. An infinite display of shades of green.

Gardening as meditation
When I pull weeds, the stress and complexity of the world falls away, leaving only the task in front of me. Look, bend, pull - the three steps require no active thought and yet complete focus. My brain no longer wanders to the next task: it lies quietly, attentively, until needed again.

Gardening as temptation
That strawberry has gotten so big, and it’s turning red! Should I pick it today? It looks so delicious. But if I wait till tomorrow, it will be even sweeter. It smells so amazing though - maybe today would be ok. I can’t bear it: every time I come outside, it’s staring at me, begging me to eat it.

Gardening as continuation
January: plan. February: start. March: prepare. April: weed. May: transplant. June: water. July: harvest. August: replant. September: preserve. October: protect. November: clean. December: rest. The cycle has been repeated by our ancestors for thousands of years, an unceasing loop of growth and death and renewal that we continue with each new orbit around the sun.

Gardening as affection
This week, we had our former neighbor - a wonderful, kind woman - over for dinner. We deliberated what we could make for her and decided on what we call a “picnic meal”: a variety plate of meats, cheeses, and other types of goodies. Featured prominently was the produce of the garden: celery, carrots, peas, cucumbers, pickles, and salsa. This week, I’ll make eggplant parmesan with fresh garden eggplant for my parents. Sharing the garden and its fruit is one of the best features of gardening, rejoicing not alone but with loved ones and friends. When I gift a homegrown or homemade edible gift, tended with care over weeks and months, I’m telling the receiver that they are worth all the time that I have spent.

Gardening as stupefaction
Is that a cucumber hiding underneath those leaves? OMG it’s HUGE, how did I miss that?

Gardening as obligation
During the summer, there is no “day off”. The garden waits for no one: plants reach for the sky, sprouting new vines, leaves, and seeds ceaselessly, demanding water and care. One cannot say “this week I don’t feel like gardening”. In order to shepherd vegetables to harvest, one must care for them actively and passionately.

Gardening as education
Did you know that many of the types of squash we know and love (pumpkin, zucchini, acorn) are all the same species? Or that a ripe cantaloupe should nearly drop from the vine on its own? Standard bamboo stakes are almost always the wrong support system for anything you’re growing, and always prepare for plants to grow larger than the seed package said they would. Learn the ebb and flow of the varieties and species in the garden and learn from mistakes to improve for next year.

Gardening as observation
After a trying day, I’ll often sit out on the porch and stare out at the garden, taking in the changes of the day. The corn is taller and is sprouting a tassel. That melon is nearly ripe. The color of the pole beans is vibrant but the garbanzo beans are yellow to show that they need something. Is there a rabbit eating the flowers over there? Those eggplant flowers sure are gorgeous.

Gardening as seduction
The tomato catalogue is a dangerous place. I can never resist a sungold but look at those tiny sweet peas! I’ve never seen anything like these zebras before. Don’t get me started on the juicy heirlooms. Maybe I can buy just one more variety? And next summer, I won’t need to buy this type of seed again, I can try something new! The catalogue pulls me in with the whisper of paper and the sweet promise of delicious fruit.