A Wee Bit of Gardening Addiction

We never liked it. Gardening. I think I only ever imagined there to be a word like gardening addict because of my Mom. From my six year old perspective, I didn’t understand why anyone would spend dawn to dusk in the vast garden we had, which we mostly referred to as the farm. That’s how it felt to us with how constantly she went there.

But I guess we wouldn’t have had a problem with her gardening if she didn’t drag all of us with her. Practically made it compulsory for everyone to be in the garden with her, taking out the weeds, planting new stuff, putting in the fertilizer and everything in between. My Mom doesn’t believe in a little. She believes in going all out in everything.

So when the little vegetable garden was slowly turning into acres of different crops and several fruit trees, we just knew we were in for it. I remember my sisters and I grumbling, and saying in words like these, “I mean if you’re so in love with gardening, that’s fine. Why make it compulsory that we like it too?” My Mom’s customary response to statements like this was to smile while taking note of those who spoke and ensuring to add extra work for each person accordingly. It was almost a nightmare.

But as expected, it’s impossible to do something for long without falling in love with it in the process. I don’t know when exactly it happened, but I think it’s a build-up. A build-up of all those beautiful moments. Working together and singing loudly at the top of our voices (Mom and I were the alto singers), fighting when someone’s work portion seemed to infringe on the other’s, crying and laughing at each other when one or more of us got stung by an insect....the likes.

One time when Dad wasn’t busy at work, he joined us in the gardens. That day was supposed to be tedious since we had our garden in the backyard to tend to and the new acres of farmland Mom had bought to extend our gardening. It was so surprising seeing Dad change into “work clothes,” don a hat like you’d see in the movies and with a machete wielded stylishly in his hand, he grinned at us and said, “Let’s go gardening.” We worked a lot that day, singing and humming to songs from Jimmy Cliff and Peter Tosh who were my Dad’s favourite reggae artistes. I think it’s my favourite garden memory yet.

My family’s impact on my garden now is really strong. Even though Mom doesn’t “interfere,” so much in everyone’s garden, I still get a lot of tips from her. Like when my Chilli peppers had yellowing leaves or when my vegetables didn’t sprout how well I wanted them to. It feels nice that I can simply just ask and get an answer in the minute.

Sometimes I want to thank her for introducing us to it. But she knows we’re grateful since a great amount of the time is spent whipping delicious meals for her and my Dad. All from the garden. And then she’d get all boastful, and say, “You see if I didn’t get you guys indoctrinated into my gardening addiction.” And we’d tease her endlessly for preening so much.

My family’s imprint on the garden is felt in every shrub, every leaf, every fruit. When I drink the coconut milk from the coconut trees we planted several years back or use the leaves from a plant I resisted planting back then. Old gardening memories shaping up my love for gardening today.

Jhymi🖤

My Response to the Weekly #Creative Garden Challenge.

_{Image is mine.}