Hope

A Garden of Hope

By Angela Nickerson

Until last summer, I was a potted plants gardener. I loved buying a few flats of pretty blooms, filling my pots, and calling it a day. When we lived in California, that was all it took to have a beautiful, flourishing outdoor space. When we moved to Colorado almost four years ago, we bought a house with a larger yard and a garden — however, making use of that space wasn’t a priority.

But last summer, stuck at home like the rest of the country, I needed an obsession. I needed a connection to the greater world — even if it was just the greater world of our backyard. Not to mention: I was tired of looking at the sameness inside our house.

So I began to garden. For real. Beyond potted plants. I started with the ancient raised beds — relics of another gardener, another time. I shored them up, added soil, compost, vermiculite. I bought seeds and seedlings — tomatoes, lettuce, carrots, zinnias, cosmos, nasturtiums — starting small, nothing particularly challenging.

Every evening I watered and watched and waited. It wasn’t a solitary activity. Our eight-year-old became my gardening partner, and we cherished watering the garden together. He learned each plant’s names and habits, celebrated each tiny cucumber and tomato, and rejoiced over each blossom.