The Transformative Power of Gardening: Lessons Learned in Soil and Life
As the vibrant green of spring explodes across New England, chasing away the memory of winter’s stark landscape, a familiar joy returns: the cheerful greetings of neighbors admiring my garden, the diligent buzz of pollinators, and the amusing antics of squirrels burying their treasures. After enduring the challenges of cold, overcast days when I yearned to feel the earth beneath my fingers, I’ve come to appreciate the restorative power of winter for a garden, a period of dormancy that fosters rest and unseen growth. Just as some plants use the winter to build strong root systems and soil health, gardening has offered me invaluable lessons applicable to my own life.
My journey into the world of gardening began about five years ago with a humble indoor herb garden and a calamansi tree in my New York City apartment. Two years ago, after moving to Providence, Rhode Island, my family and I embraced outdoor gardening and discovered its profound impact on our mental and physical well-being. The ritualistic acts of weeding, mulching, pruning, and watering became a source of respite from the stresses of daily life, providing an opportunity to connect with each other, with nature, and with our new community.
One of the most encouraging aspects of gardening is its accessibility. Anyone, regardless of their budget, can participate. All you need are a few seeds, good-quality soil, and a desire to grow, both literally and figuratively. Numerous studies confirm the myriad benefits of gardening, including improved air quality and biodiversity, reduced stress and increased mindfulness, and stronger community connections. Intriguingly, the friendly bacteria found in soil may have an antidepressant-like effect on the brain, stimulating the production of serotonin. A long-term study even revealed that daily gardening could reduce the risk of dementia by 36 percent.
Beyond its health benefits, gardening empowers individuals to achieve greater food sovereignty, the belief that people, communities, and countries have the right to control their own food systems. In Providence, the "Sharing Garden" at Billy Taylor Park exemplifies this philosophy. In warmer months, this garden plot bursts with scarlet tomatoes, crisp green beans, and hearty kale. My children eagerly run down the hill from the swings each spring to check on its progress.
Established in 2017 by the Mount Hope Food Security Coalition, the Sharing Garden promotes food sovereignty in communities of Black, Indigenous, and other people of color through 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. She believes that gardening offers a balm for modern life, connecting us with nature and community without demanding expertise. Collaborating with others to pull weeds, carry soil, or learn from experienced gardeners fosters collaboration and mutual respect. In a world where many of us spend long hours sitting alone at desks, in cars, or at home, gardening offers a life-affirming antidote. "When you’re outside gardening, you are breathing and you’re listening to animals, you’re hearing them, you’re seeing them," she says. "You’re in relationship to this living being."
Before I embarked on my gardening adventure, my experience was limited to watering trees in my childhood yard and struggling to keep indoor plants alive in my New York City apartment. The prospect of learning a new skill was both exciting and overwhelming. I wanted to know everything instantly, possess all the essential tools, achieve perfection, and grow everything my heart desired, avoiding any failures. I became paralyzed by the fear of doing things wrong or lacking a comprehensive understanding of plant vocabulary. Even reading a seed packet felt daunting.
Nearly three springs ago, I overcame my inertia by taking the first step: talking to friends who garden and borrowing books from the library. I acquired some soil, seeds, a seed starting tray, and young lavender, eggplant, and bell pepper plants from a local nursery. A friend generously gifted me heirloom tomato plants and sage plants she had in excess. When selecting what to grow, prioritize veggies and herbs you enjoy eating, and consider the amount of sunlight your space receives when choosing plants or flowers. Seed packets typically include a map of growing zones, a calendar, and instructions. You can determine your growing zone by entering your zip code online. Resources such as the Farmer’s Almanac provide estimates of frost dates for your region, which are crucial for outdoor planting, as planting too early can damage seeds or plants. If you lack access to outdoor space, consider volunteering at a local community garden. Handy apps like PictureThis can help you identify plants and offer care and maintenance advice.
My dear friend Amy Gastelum, founder of Velma Jean Flowers, a small-scale flower farm specializing in native plants and garden planning consultations, emphasizes that good soil is the most essential element for successful gardening. You can use seed starting mix in empty yogurt containers (making sure to create drainage holes) or egg cartons. She also recommends visiting farmers markets for plant starts, which are young plants grown from seeds that are ready to be transplanted.
"Either way, just start," Gastelum advised. "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."
In my first year, I didn’t invest in fancy equipment like grow lights or heat mats, but I gained valuable knowledge about sun position, light, and moisture. When my first seeds sprouted, I was overjoyed. The tiny green shoots signaled the development of an entire root system beneath the surface. There were also unexpected surprises. My two-year-old son accidentally knocked over a tray of shishito seeds on the balcony. I gathered the scattered mess and tossed it into a soil bag in our mudroom. Weeks later, I opened the bag and discovered that the seeds had sprouted. I remember thinking, "Wow, nature really can find its way."
That summer, we built our raised bed, created our own soil mixture, and started a worm compost bin, which became a family and community project. Knowledgeable friends offered advice, and a kind neighbor gave me worms to break down compostable waste—one of the nicest and strangest gifts I’ve ever received.
To design an outdoor garden in my new home in Providence, I’ve consulted with Amy during morning and afternoon dog walks, discussing everything from soil testing for nutrients and contaminants to veggie garden placement and the types of trees that can reduce pollutants from car traffic on a busy street. We once discussed a podcast where a farmer mentioned that, on average, 50 percent of their crops don’t produce. "That’s kind of liberating, right?" I said. Just because something doesn’t "produce" something visible or measurable doesn’t mean it was a failure.
Last holiday season, facing budget constraints, I sought a way to express gratitude to my closest friends and family. Gardening, once again, provided the answer. I realized that harvesting seeds as gifts would be a meaningful gesture. I turned to the dried-up marigold plant on the corner of my raised bed, which had produced stunning ombre-orange flowers that attracted monarch butterflies daily. The whole family participated, collecting and storing the seeds in small pouches. I hand-drew cards and added a special note for each person. One friend teared up upon receiving my small offering. A neighbor hugged my six-year-old, who had created her own drawing to accompany the seeds, and exclaimed, "I can’t wait to plant these!"
While I may not possess all the answers, gardening has taught me that one season cannot yield all the desired outcomes. The unexpected surprises along the way will undoubtedly delight, challenge, or teach you. I eagerly anticipate receiving photos of my loved ones’ marigold progress and answering any questions they may have about starting their own gardens.
As spring arrives in New England, I feel more confident about starting new seeds and planning my garden. I’m even hosting a seed, plant, and clothing swap with friends. Some plants may thrive, while others may wilt or be devoured by adorable bunnies or insects. I accept that. Among the many joys of gardening is its ability to teach us to relinquish control, stay grounded in wonder and curiosity, and seek guidance from friends when we feel stuck.
