I'm okay, the garden's okay

The moniker "recovery garden" may be a little misleading.

The garden itself is doing just fine. It has everything it needs: water, boundless solar energy, and a variety of pollinators. It may occasionally suffer some stress in times of drought or excessive heat, but it doesn't suffer from anxiety. It sleeps through the night (except when the woodchucks invade), doesn't worry about its future and doesn't dwell over its past mistakes.

The garden doesn't need to recover from anything. The garden is recovering us.

Step by step

A twelve-step program for growing a recovery:

1. Acknowledge the need for more locally grown food
2. Believe that we can make a difference by growing our own food
3. Surrender the desire for exotic or processed foods
4. Prepare the soil with compost, hold the chemicals
5. Choose the crops, acknowledging the limitations of local climate
6. Plant the seeds and seedlings
7. Recognize of the power -- both positive and negative -- of Mother Nature
8. Share with the wildlife (except for woodchucks, who don't leave anything behind)
9. Weed and mulch
10. Harvest and preserve
11. Feed the neighbors, both immediate and extended
12. Spread the word about the value of Recovery Gardens

Recovery, not victory

The concept of Victory Gardens is being revived all across the country, harking back to other war-time eras, when food and/or cash was in short supply.

I grew a Victory Garden last year. I was angry then. I wanted to hit something, and I didn't want to go to jail for assault. I took my anger out on clumps of dirt and tangles of weeds. It seemed fitting that I was growing a "victory garden," because I surely wanted victory, even if I wasn't sure what I wanted to defeat.

This year, I'm less angry and more scared and anxious. I need nurturing rather than violence, recovery more than victory.

Growing my own recovery

The government can't fix the economy, locally or globally.

We're the ones who have to fix the problem, and, now that the initial shock is wearing off, it's time to act. We need to get our own lives in order, get our feet solidly beneath us, and then reach out to help others who are still struggling.

It's easy to feel helpless in the face of the daily news and the enormity of the problem and the smallness of our abilities to help. I was getting caught up in the way everyone was counting on "new" things to save us: new technology, new businesses, and even new workers in old occupations. If that's true, I can't help. I'm not new. I'm an old worker in an old occupation.

But sometimes old is good. My role in the recovery will come from something as old as dirt: growing my own food.

I've planted a summer garden every year for decades, but always in a slapdash sort of way. I enjoyed seeing things grow, and that was enough of a reward, even if the bunnies and the bugs and the droughts and the floods consumed the bulk of my crops.

This year, though, the harvest matters. This year, I'm growing my own recovery.