‘Well-Being Grows in Tiny Gardens,” announced a recent headline in the New York Times. The article told of small garden plots in Stockholm that were established as a social program in the early 1900s to bring nature into crowded urban life. It was hoped that bringing people outdoors to work together in their gardens would provide well-being to those who might otherwise seek to lift their spirits with a bottle. Sweden boasts more than 50,000 such plots and there are long waiting lists to obtain them. It seems intuitive that gardening has health benefits, particularly when compared with the effects of heavy drinking. And legions of psychological researchers have found that gardeners tend to have fewer symptoms of depression and less anxiety, and that those who garden with others feel less socially isolated.
But what about the well-being of those of us with bigger gardens?
This time of year, I’d give my eye teeth for a postage-stamp-sized garden. I’m not the only one. The garden writer Margaret Roach, creator of the fabulous website awaytogarden.com, prefaced her list of monthly garden chores with this confession: “As July begins – especially if it does so with a heatwave – I want to throw in the trowel; mow the whole place down or turn it under (think: bulldozer).” As I survey my wide-ranging garden beds, I find these words very comforting, especially coming from a professional gardener. My husband thinks the garden looks fine. But I can’t see beyond the weeds, which are bigger and badder than ever.
Springing up everywhere is American burnweed, which has just earned the University of Massachusetts Extension Service’s designation, “troublemaker of the month.” According to the Extension Service’s monthly bulletin, the seeds of burnweed are dispersed by the wind and spread easily, often taking over areas cleared by fire — hence the name. In several parts of the garden that I cleared of sprawling floribunda rose and blackberry vines earlier this summer, burnweed immediately moved in to fill the spaces that I’d planned to plant with hardy native shrubs. This time around I vow to finish the job.
Last summer I wrote about curating my weeds. I now pardon myself for letting the milkweed run wild, since it provides monarch butterflies with a place to lay their eggs and later feeds their caterpillars. And how could I pull out pokeweed knowing that its ripe berries will provide valuable nourishment for migrating songbirds as they store energy for their long autumnal journey? And those leggy stalks of goldenrod might look unsightly now, but I won’t regret leaving them alone when late summer rolls around. Their yellow wands of flowers provide not only visual delight but food to all sorts of pollinators, including moths, wasps, bees and butterflies. Burnweed, alas, isn’t a valuable source of nourishment or breeding habitat. Fortunately, it’s easy to pull out!
Just as I’ve begun to tolerate certain weeds in the garden, I’ve broadened my ideas about what can be planted in a garden. I don’t know where I picked up the idea that Serious Gardeners do not plant annuals in their garden beds. My mother — no garden snob she — relied heavily on annuals to bring color to her summer border. Impatiens, cosmos, marigolds, whatever caught her eye at the local nursery. She bought nasturtium seeds, like wrinkled dried-up peas, for me and my sister to grow and add to her mix. For years, striving to be a Serious Gardener, I restricted annuals to patio pots and window boxes. This year I decided to sneak a few annuals into the small border outside the kitchen window that is often in my line of sight and was looking meh. It felt slightly transgressive; I could imagine a brigade of Serious Gardeners wagging fingers at me. These plants — flaming orange lantana, velvety white “wave” petunias and luscious crimson zinnias — are mingling happily with cranesbill geraniums and make me smile whenever I see them. Creating this boldly colorful border in a sea of chaos has definitely boosted my sense of well-being. This summer, it’s my perfect postage-stamp garden.
Mickey Rathbun is an Amherst-based writer whose new book, “The Real Gatsby: George Gordon Moore, A Granddaughter’s Memoir,” has recently been published by White River Press.