A Meditation on Gardening During a Crisis
by Clara Pitt
Photography by Clara Pitt
My father taught me to love the outdoors. When I was eight or nine years old, he started taking me on long backpacking treks through the majestic mountains of the Sierra Nevada. But even before I was old enough to backpack with him, we would go on hikes on the weekends or family road trips to National Parks whenever we could. When my father and I were not exploring grand forests and natural formations, we would spend time together working in our quaint West Hollywood backyard. I cannot remember a time before we had a vegetable garden in our backyard. Gardening, together, was a way for me to bond with my father, learn about food, and gain a perspective on human-environment interactions.
Memories of our wilderness adventures filled my little head up with a rich adoration for nature and planted the roots for the deep, spiritual connection I have to nature today and the strong lesson that if I put love into the earth, it will support me in return.
Fast forward ten years.
At the beginning of March, I traveled back home to Los Angeles from my college in the North East. Intending to only stay for a week, the duration of my spring break, I only packed clothing that could fit in my charmingly small carry-on. I was not prepared for what lay ahead. Nor was the rest of the world.
On day six of my stay, I learned that I would not be going back to school anytime soon, that I was stuck at my childhood home indefinitely. Initially I turned to the outside world to find comfort, finding any and every excuse to go on long walks and bike rides that would get me out of the house. But, after a while, I realized that I could not rely on my ‘escapes’ from the house to find peace and stabilize my wellbeing.
So, I turned inward. Specifically, towards our quaint backyard. Though our backyard has seen many different phases since I began my gardening practice as a child, it still is an inviting space to cultivate life. I expressed to my father that I desired to build our garden again and, as you could guess, he was all in.
Though I did not realize it at the time, our little vegetable garden began initially as a coping strategy to find some element of certainty in this chaotic period of vast uncertainty.
Gardens are fragile yet undeniably rewarding. They require daily attention, care, and love. As I struggle to accept the unpredictability of my future, I still have to show up for my plants, especially for those that I am growing from seeds. Even if I can’t love myself on a certain day, I have to shower my seedlings with love and water.
After a few weeks of devoting many afternoons to planting seeds, weeding, building raised garden beds, and taking care of our plants, I began to feel more at peace with my unexpected, prolonged placement at home. My energy spent physically working the land was also a means of reinvesting myself in my home, relearning what it means to inhabit a place, appreciate its stability and beauty, and take care of it.
Photography by Clara Pitt
As panic arose, and the situation became more dire, it became clear that having a garden also served another purpose. If food systems break down and there are vast food insecurities, having a vegetable garden provides some level of self-sufficiency.
Many have compared gardening during this pandemic to the victory gardens of World War I and II. During World War I, the National War Garden Commission called citizens to grow food in whatever capacity they could to prevent widespread starvation. The promotion of victory gardens, stating “we can grow food for victory in our own backyards,” invited people to ensure their self-sufficiency and provide for their communities. Victory gardens came back during World War II. Newspapers and Magazines documented the national initiative, estimating that 20 million world war II victory gardens produced 40% of the nation's fruits and vegetables. The original Life Magazine article shared that victory gardens sprung up “in strange nooks and crannies all over the U.S.” After war time, grass returned to lawns and most mobilized Americans abandoned their ‘farms’.
With empty shelves lining many grocery stores and consumers expecting disruptions in food supply, shoppers began traveling from grocery stores to nurseries looking to invest in their own gardens.
Though the causes are different, some of the repercussions of this global pandemic are similar to war times. We are revealing the broken structures of our society, specifically in the large food and agricultural industries. With these revelations comes the opportunity to re-envision our relationship with our land - shifting towards more sustainable, efficient, localized methods.
Photography provided by Freepik
With the gardeners of past world wars, we must stand together to protect our vulnerable communities and spread food security. Along with the necessity of food production comes the self-serving practice of gardening that is beautiful, sustainable, and healing during a time of great tensity.
I am not trying to make you believe that gardening will save your life or that it will completely transform your sense of stability and self. I am not promising that it will be easy and produce perfect results. But, I am asserting that what we put our attention towards has the power to manifest in beautiful exhibits of rebirth. Gardening reminds us that even during the darkest of times, life persists. New life grows from the scraps of the past. Plants die, decompose and provide nutrients for the soil. Even if we are broken down, we can be renewed and regrown.
Based on my past successes gardening, I have the assurance that if I work on this land, I will encourage growth and new life - truly a magical and inspiring thing. Gardening also has given me consistency. Though I am the one checking on my plants daily, they are keeping me in check, providing me with a reason to get out of bed in the morning. What began as relationship building with my father has blossomed into my discovery and exploration of mindful living and finding beauty in the small seeds of life.
