A week ago, I followed fox tracks in my backyard, tiny paw prints that led straight through the kitchen garden, behind the garden shed and into the woods. It had snowed the night before, and as I followed these tracks, I could see a whole scenario unfolding in the snow during the night. There were squirrel prints near the compost pile, rabbits circling the last of the kale and voles tunneling everywhere. It gave me a thrill to know that my yard provides a natural habitat for wild creatures to interact and thrive.
I garden because I love to bring fresh food and flowers into the house, and because it keeps me intimately connected to my landscape. Like most gardeners, I've learned to sit quietly and observe, to listen, to smell. Whether lying under tall trees, or perched on a bench, sitting still is a way to engage with nature, and simply appreciate being outdoors. Every action is connected to another, and when I claimed this piece of land in order to make a garden, the balance and order of things was disturbed, yet also enhanced.
Allowing nature to follow the grand cycle of life is what gardening has taught me. To be at peace when voles tunnel under the soil, knowing they have a good chance of feeding the fox; watching the squirrels launch attacks on the bird feeder because they, too, will soon retreat back to their nests; the cozy den of rabbits in the underbrush is just fine, because it is winter.
Winter has a way of bringing everything into perspective, allowing us to ponder the landscape and our place in it. In this newsletter, I hope to inspire you to try a new recipe, consider signing up for a kitchen garden design workshop and follow links to fresh ways to build a healthy natural landscape, because what feeds your plants, ultimately feeds you.
As Always,
Ellen Ecker Ogden
Author and Lecturer
www.ellenogden.com
The Complete Kitchen Garden and other books.
