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 Here
in Northern New Mexico, there is not much gardening
to be done in January. We are under a soft blanket
of snow (although the rodents
pop up occasionally for reasons of their own).
Except for an occasional expedition to forage for
parsley, all is quiet.
Once upon a
time, though, January was the most important month
in my gardening year. In January, you see, the new
garden catalogs would start to arrive. With these
in hand, the planning would begin. Lists of
vegetables, flowers, and new iris varieties would
fill my notebooks, and then the graph paper would
come out and great plans would be devised. Bank
accounts would drain, and the waiting would
begin.
Planning
helps create a new reality; it is a crucial part of
the process of manifesting our intentions and
bringing something new into being.
As time has
gone by, though, I've become less of a planner. I
still enjoy the garden catalogs, but now
I tend to browse them for inspiration. Instead
of breaking out the graph paper, I just walk around
with a stew of various possibilities simmering in
my mind. I may order a few things that especially
catch my attention, but I'm more likely to just
wait until spring and see which of my different
inspirations I feel like endulging.
I've decided
that planning needs to take a back seat to doing.
As a young man, it seems like I spent more time in
my gardens of the imagination in January than in
the real garden in July. Somehow the plans were
always more grandiose, more perfect, and more
inspiring than the realities. I would
over-plan, and then find myself overwhelmed with
weeding, watering, and the other struggles of
keeping things alive. Now I judge what and how much
to plant by how I am experiencing the real garden
in real time. If things are humming along and I'm
keeping up with it all, I'll add a bit. If it's
becoming too much, I'll scale back. If something is
doing particularly well, I'll try some more. If
it's not, I'll let go of that particular
plan.
Imagination,
I've found, is a powerful ally but a treacherous
one. When imaginary gardens are more interesting
than real ones, when imaginary conversations happen
more often than actual communication, or an
imaginary future makes the present slip by
unnoticed, then it is time to step out into the
snow and breathe the crisp air of
winter.
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