Accidental Sabbatical

Accidental Sabbatical

Recently I’ve been so busy in the doing that I looked up and realised that the days have quickly turned into weeks and I’ve kept myself to myself. It has felt a little strange, but kind of refreshing. I have been sharing my gardening ups and downs for around 15 years, with any breaks completely intentional – for holidays, illness (not that that is intentional) or planned non-garden related commitments.

No one has made me do it, and I haven’t even tapped into the gravy train of ‘influencing’. I’ve just taken pleasure and delight from sharing the joy I find in my garden or appreciate the love and compassion from others when things don’t go so well. Posting garden antics is just a part of what I do with no real expectation of anything in return.

What I get out of it is my gardening journey has been documented and recorded. My thoughts and feelings are locked in on the pages of my blog or snapped in a social media post. My photo gallery is bursting to overflowing with images. Everything is searchable. I can hunt back over the years to see what tasks I did at this time in years gone by to check if I’ve forgotten something or if the seasons are in sync or it is warmer than it used to be.

I stare back at my younger me, doing things with ease that today’s me would need a week on the sofa to allow weary bones to recover from. When I started out, I had small children at my knee, stealing strawberries from the garden and curious about earthworms appearing in a spadesful of soil and gobbled up the fresh produce I’d grown to fill their bellies.

They’ve gone now and are out in the world making their own way, and I couldn’t be prouder. But what is left behind is just the two of us – me and Hubby the Un-Gardener navigating a new normal, challenging ourselves to see if what we’ve always done is what we still want to be doing, especially now that we’re older and supposedly wiser.

In the meantime – like a constant, the garden is always there, doing its thing and growing. The weeds are eternal and constant and keeps a gardener humble. No one is ever too fancy as a gardener that they can’t be found scratching about on the ground removing fistfuls of green interlopers. Not that I was ever fancy.

Which brings me back to my accidental sabbatical. There is a lingering warmth in the late autumnal glow – you can feel it when you plunge your hands deep into the moist soil that is heavy with dew on the surface. And the weeds love it. One moment I’m basking in the reverie of a season completed well. I’d implemented checks and measures, put systems in place and my lists had lists. I was in control and up to date. This was going to be my year. The next thing I’m flailing behind with weeds up the wazoo and in spite of my best intentions clutter creeping in the corners. I’d lost my grip on my fragile sense of control. Throw in a week of rain and a session of over exertion moving far too much gravel to make a garden path from where the truck dumped it in the driveway and I was done, and I stopped.

As I sat there, I wondered, would it matter if I didn’t get up again? Brief dashes into the garden to feed the chickens or grab a pepper from the last plants standing was enough notice the overwhelm set in. Any tinkering I did, I didn’t even take any photos. My heart wasn’t in it. The longer I left it, the harder it was to pick up where I left off. But I felt less connected to me, and I didn’t know who I was. I had no purpose.

Then the sun came out, one of those amazing crisp blue-sky days and I made myself go out into the garden, no expectations, just start with a small job. As the sun kept shining the jobs got bigger and soon I was throwing myself with wild abandon into tasks that would have daunted me days earlier. But at this stage I was doing it for me – an audience of one. It was for my peace of mind, and I didn’t feel like sharing, the camera hardly clicked. No progress was captured. I may regret it in seasons to come when I review these ‘dark ages’ and don’t know what I did, but picking myself back up and restoring order was more important. Thinking about what I wanted, not how it would look to others was refreshing. I could easily get used to this status quo.

But after forever of documenting the garden, the desire to has crept back in and so I picked up the camera and snapped a few update shots, ready to bring the garden back in view. It was nice to have a bit of a break from it all, but to be honest I’d be lost, completely cast adrift if I didn’t keep doing what I’d always done.

Come again soon – this garden isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Sarah the Gardener  : o)