From the Ground Up- In the Garden of Interested Neglect

First blogged in 2012; edited today for date correctness.

When we moved into this house 8 1/2 years ago I delighted in the idea that I could finally have a garden, and while I had no clue where to start, I started small with a variety of vegetables in pots.

The following year I planted 4" herbs around the back deck, only 3 or 4. When I dug into the earth I was mortified to find that only inches beneath the topsoil was a dense layer of clay. As I mulled it over, it made perfect sense. The area where we live was once part of the bed of Lake Ontario, in a notoriously clay based area.
I proceeded to care for those herbs and maintain pot gardens, but it wasn't what I wanted in my heart. The herbs thrived an everything else I planted choked on the clay. Vegetables and fruits (outside of strawberries) gave up before they even tried.

Three years ago I built a raised bed out of discount shingles purchased on clearance at Lowe's. It was a glorious triumph of delectable vegetables. At this time I also planted black raspberries and some grapes. The herbs I planted originally had flourished to the point where the lavender had to be transplanted to an area that was more conducive to its size.

More research to soil churning and enriching lead me to a rather large risk as I decided to plant fruit trees; a golden apple espalier, sweet cherries, dark plums and kiwi. They are doing well, slow growing, I can only assume due to clay, but this year they produced blossoms/fruit, so what I am doing must be working.

The following spring I wanted to build a larger raised bed garden, expand it around the yard and incorporate more herbs. I had great lists and desires. It's all planned out, graphed and mapped. I had the seeds, either ones I harvested myself or ones I grew. Every thing was in a row and then...

Life took over. The business I own grew incredibly busy ahead of schedule and all my plans went beyond the back burner and straight to a shelf. Seeds are now cataloged for next year. I watched my fruit trees bloom and helplessly lose those blooms in a late-spring deep-freeze. I monitored the progress of the grapes, the raspberries and the herbs, most of which were grown in pots because I couldn't get them into the ground. The one lone apple that survived the freeze grew in front of my scanning eyes.

Somehow I viewed it as a mixed blessing when the drought hit. The state underwent a water use ban. Lawns passed the browning stage and turned into desperate yellowish straw. I sighed with relief knowing that I dodged a bullet, as every night I heard tales of lost crops.

"Weeds" grew. One day my fruits were almost ripe and the next day they were gone as birds and squirrels descended upon them. Hopes for next season sprung into plots for animal nets and other harmless deterrents.

Finally, the drought broke and things moved to life and it seemed like they were rushing to catch up. For the second time in the year (not since spring) our lawn needed to be mowed. Before having our son take to the task, I went to survey the yard and gardens and noticed a very faint, sweet, almost apple like aroma on the breeze. Little white flowers caught my eye, growing everywhere. Imagine my surprise when I realized chamomile, an herb that was on my list to grow, blanketed my yard.

After a month of waiting, I decided to wade through the weeds where I discovered, much to my great joy, herbs that I had intended to add to my garden this year. One plant of each just appeared:
Lamb's ear in the black raspberry patch.  Red Clover in the middle yard. Catnip and Burdock in the grapes.

Herbs I was told wouldn't survive our winters have thrived and flourished in our yard over the years, some of those even developing hearty offshoots. Our strawberry plants, which are all in pots, have danced away from their pots and can now be found throughout the herb beds. Everything is lush and full.

I set about harvesting and transplanting my new found delights, marveling that the garden seemed to know exactly what I wanted and granted me one plant of each.

While not my preferred approach to gardening it seems that interested neglect is a fruitful method, for one year at least, to finding out how simply magical my garden can be and that nature does, indeed, seem to find a way.

*Note: In 2013 I did a planned garden. Updated the raised bed to pallet beds. Expanded into the front yard. I used those shutters to encase what I now call the "sharps garden"; where the black raspberries and nettle grow. In the middle of the year I went to check on it and there, growing proud and strong was a gorgeous thistle plant. Not only did nature know that I wanted some thistle, it even put it in the appropriate garden section for me!  Not only does it find a way, it's awe-inspiring in its choices.