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At long last, spring has arrived here in New England, with verdant leaves erupting through soil and piles of brown leaves. That means the return of neighbors who pass by my garden and say, “I love that rose bush!” or “What else are you growing this year?” It means frequent visits from busy pollinators like bees, butterflies, and funny squirrels who bury their acorns in my raised bed.
While it was challenging to accept on cold, overcast days, especially when I needed to feel my hands in the soil, I learned that winter can be good for a garden, providing a dormancy period for rest and — while we can’t see it — growth. In fact, winter is a time when some plants can divert their energy to building strong root systems and soil health can improve. Ah, gardening — teaching me yet another lesson I need to apply in my own life.
I started digging into my new hobby (pardon the pun) about five years ago, at first tinkering with an indoor herb garden and calamansi tree in my New York City apartment. Two years ago, after my family moved to Providence, Rhode Island, we began tending to an outdoor garden and discovered how mentally and physically healing it could be. The ritualistic acts of weeding, mulching, pruning, and watering gave us not only a reprieve from the stresses of everyday life, but also a chance to connect with each other, nature, and our new community.
The good news? Anyone, at any budget, can garden. All you need is a few seeds, good quality soil, and a desire to grow, both literally and metaphorically.
Gardening can alter your brain chemistry
A plethora of studies backs up the idea that gardening has numerous benefits: It improves air quality and biodiversity for our environment, reduces stress and increases mindfulness for gardeners, and strengthens our connection to community. In fact, it’s possible that the friendly bacteria in soil may affect the brain similarly to antidepressants, leading to the production of serotonin. One long-term study even found that gardening daily could reduce dementia incidence by 36 percent. Along with those benefits, many people hope to achieve more food sovereignty, a philosophy and practice based on the belief that people, communities, and countries have the right to control their own food systems.
In Providence, there’s a delightful “Sharing Garden” behind the basketball courts at Billy Taylor Park, where in the warmer months, you’ll notice a garden plot with raised beds growing food like scarlet-red tomatoes, crisp green beans, and hearty kale. In the spring, my kids race down the hill from the swings to see how it’s doing.
One long-term study even found that gardening daily could reduce dementia incidence by 36 percent.
Created in 2017 by the Mount Hope Food Security Coalition, the Sharing Garden works toward food sovereignty in communities of Black, Indigenous, and other people of color; it hosts cookouts, harvests, and workshops. Dr. Dannie Ritchie, a clinical assistant professor of family medicine at Brown University and the founder of Community Health Innovations of Rhode Island, helped establish the plot and says gardening outdoors can feel like a balm for modern life, connecting you with both nature and your community without having to know all the answers.
When you’re outside with others pulling weeds, schlepping bags of soil, or listening to the wisdom of a more seasoned gardener, collaboration and respect for one another comes easily. And with so many of us sitting for long stretches of time at our desks, cars, offices and homes, often alone, “it’s life-affirming,” Ritchie says. When you’re “outside gardening, you are breathing and you’re listening to animals, you’re hearing them, you’re seeing them,” she adds. “You’re in relationship to this living being.”
How to weave gardening into your life
Before I began gardening, I didn’t have much experience aside from my childhood chore of watering trees in our front yard and my attempts at keeping indoor plants alive when I lived in New York City.
The prospect of learning a new skill was exciting…but also overwhelming. I wanted to know everything all at once, have all the essential tools and equipment, do it “perfectly,” and be able to grow everything my heart desired, bypassing any failures. I got stuck, riddled with nerves that I wasn’t doing it right or that I didn’t understand all the ins and outs of plant vocabulary. Reading the back of a seed packet felt intimidating.
Nearly three springs ago, I got unstuck by taking my first step: talking to friends who garden and borrowing books from the library. I got a few bags of soil, seeds, a seed starting tray, and some young lavender, eggplant, and bell pepper plants from a local nursery. A friend gave me a couple of heirloom tomato plants along with some sage plants because she had too many.
When you’re thinking of what you’d like to grow, simplify the process by picking veggies or herbs you love to eat, and for plants or flowers, think about the sun exposure you get in your space. Most seed packets include a map of growing zones, a calendar, and instructions. You can find your growing zone by entering your zip code here. The Farmer’s Almanac can give you a good estimate of frost dates for your region, which are vital to know for any outdoor planting, as planting too early when it’s too cold out can damage your seeds or plants.
If you don’t have access to outdoor space, you can find a community garden in your area that needs volunteers. There are also handy apps like PictureThis that can help you identify plants and provide care and maintenance advice.
“Don’t try to be perfect. You won’t be, but you will learn and you will probably have some success.”
My dear friend, Amy Gastelum, who founded Velma Jean Flowers, a small-scale flower farm in Indianapolis that specializes in native plants and offers garden planning consultations, says good soil is the most essential element you need to start growing. You can add seed starting mix to empty yogurt containers (just make sure you create holes in the bottom for drainage) or egg cartons. She also suggests checking out your farmers market for plant starts, which are young plants grown from seeds that are ready to be transplanted.
“Either way, just start,” Gastelum told me in an email. “Don’t try to be perfect. You won’t be, but you will learn and you will probably have some success. Every garden question you have is Googleable and you can find lots of beautiful books on gardening at your local library.”
Gardening’s unruly surprises
In my first year gardening, I didn’t buy anything especially fancy, like grow lights or heat mats, but I learned a lot about sun position, light, and moisture.
When the first seeds I planted began to sprout, I screeched with excitement. The delicate green shoot signaled that an entire root system was forming below.
There were other surprises, too: My son, who was 2 at the time, accidentally knocked over a tray of shishito seeds I had on the balcony; I gathered the scattered mess and threw it in a soil bag in our mudroom. Weeks later, I opened the bag, and much to my surprise, the mess — several shishito seeds sitting in soil — had sprouted. Wow, nature really can find its way, I remember thinking.
That summer, we built our raised bed, created our own soil mixture, and started a worm compost bin, which was a family and community affair, with several knowledgeable friends offering me advice along the way. One lovely neighbor gave me some of the worms that break down compostable waste — the nicest and strangest gift I’ve ever received.
Weeks later, I opened the bag, and much to my surprise, the mess — several shishito seeds sitting in soil — had sprouted.
To design an outdoor garden in my new home in Providence, I’ve consulted Amy on early morning and afternoon walks with my dog, Wally, talking about everything from soil testing (for analyzing nutrients and contaminants like lead) to veggie garden placement to what trees can reduce pollutants from car traffic on a busy street. We talked once about a podcast she listened to where one gardener said that on average, 50 percent of their crops don’t end up producing. “That’s kind of liberating, right?” I said. Just because something doesn’t “produce” something we can see or measure doesn’t mean it was a failure.
Last holiday season, on a serious budget as a parent with three kids, I wondered how I’d express my gratitude to my closest friends and family. Gardening, once again, provided an answer, as I realized how special it might be to harvest some seeds as gifts.
I looked at the dried-up marigold plant that had produced gorgeous ombre-orange flowers on the corner of my raised bed, inviting monarch butterflies daily. It was perfect. The whole family got involved. We collected and stored the seeds in little pouches and I hand-drew cards and added a special note for each person. A friend teared up instantly when I handed her my small offering. A neighbor hugged my 6-year-old — who had made her own drawing to go with the seeds — and said, “I can’t wait to plant these!”
I might not have all the answers, but as gardening has taught me, one season can’t yield all the outcomes you might want. Hopefully, the unruly surprises along the way will delight, challenge, or teach you. I, for one, can’t wait for my loved ones to send photos of the progress of their marigolds or ask any questions about how to start if they feel overwhelmed.
As spring arrives in New England, I’m much more comfortable starting new seeds and scheming up a garden. I’m even hosting a seed, plant, and clothing swap with friends. Some plants may thrive and some might end up wilted or overtaken by (adorable) bunnies or insects. I can accept that. Among the many pleasures of gardening is that it asks us to relinquish control of outcomes, stay grounded in wonder and curiosity, and ask a friend when we get stuck.
Correction, May 2, 12:15 pm ET: A previous version of this story misidentified who said on a podcast that 50 percent of what they planted didn’t end up producing. It was a gardener.
