I always thought that “helicopter parenting” where the Mom and Dad obsessively hover over their children, was a little ridiculous. Especially now that my children are fully grown, it’s easy to hand out advice about raising kids. Don’t hover! Give them room! Let them fail! Let them fight their own battles! and so on.
It’s a little ironic, then, that I have turned into a “helicopter gardener.” First thing every morning I take my cup of coffee out to the garden to look around.
It’s not exactly like I’m checking up on them after a night out in the world, but …..well, okay, it’s exactly that. But they’re so young! and vulnerable! And there are such dangerous things out there – cold weather, voles, squirrels, heavy footed visitors, over enthusiastic weed eaters! Sadie!! (though my dog and I have a pretty good understanding about her need to step lightly amongst the plants.)
I just need to reassure myself that all my plants have survived another night and that they are strong and healthy. I don’t worry about them running off, by nature plants are not very mobile, but I am concerned about their falling in with the wrong crowd. I don’t mean to sound rude, but some of those plants out there are nothing but weeds. I do my best to relocate them – usually to the compost pile – to give MY babies every opportunity to grow and thrive.
I have done a lot of weeding this year, spending many winter hours digging and pulling up unwanted guests. It occurred to me the other day, though, that in my efforts to remove the weeds, I was also stepping all over things that were trying to emerge – hostas, Solomon’s seal, new ferns…..I can’t tell you how many times I said “Oh shoot! (or worse) as I heard the telltale crunch of a newly emerged hosta stalk underneath my feet.
I know I am sometimes overanxious in the garden, which really doesn’t do anyone any good – neither the plants or myself. Like when I dig up a seed to see if it’s starting to germinate – comparable to waking up a baby to see if he’s really asleep.
My excuse, like every helicopter parent, is that I just love my plants and flowers and want them to be the best that they can be. Sometimes I wonder if I’m pushing too hard though. Is it really necessary and good for the long term health of a plant to exhibit peak performance every year? Nooooo, not every year, just this year!
When I’m out in the garden, it’s as if I want to pour my heart and soul into them so that they thrive and bloom. I want to warm them when it’s cold, dry them when it’s wet, coddle and baby them until they are robust. It is extremely gratifying to raise healthy plants.
I know I can’t protect them from everything – after all, I co-parent with Mother Nature and she definitely has her own ideas about how things should be done. She obviously thinks we should just let things take her course.
Probably the plants heave a sigh of relief when I finally land the copter and quit hovering, leaving them alone to go inside and do my human thing. But before I go, I pause at the door and turn to take one long last look around the garden in the gathering darkness, then turn my eyes skyward as I offer up a silent prayer of supplication for the health and happiness of every single plant and every single person that I love.
Nice ending, Laura. I mean, good post, too, all ’round.
We just planted rice with the 2nd graders as they study India. I too am a hovering gardener, urging those seeds not to disappoint the students. But we have a new word in our vocabulary: resiliency. A good word to have as a gardener and to remember there is “always next year!”