Sometimes, gardening is better for me than writing. Both gardening and writing are creative, but gardening has a messiness and physicality that writing lacks. That’s what I need right now.

It’s mid-October and my garden is still producing. Red and green leaf lettuce, romaine, arugula, Swiss chard, kale, beets and a few cucumbers that are trying really hard to become something bigger. The lacinato kale has been growing all year and currently looks like it belongs in a Dr. Seuss illustration. I’ve harvested the last of the cherry tomatoes and a few matinas that are ripening on the counter. I’m busy roasting them and with the help of my little freezer, I will be able to enjoy them through the winter when store-bought tomatoes are always a disappointment.

Cherry Tomatoes

Lacinato Kale

My carrots have always failed. I’m going to try again next year. Why not? The garden is an ongoing experiment. I’m not trying anything exotic. But the joy I get seeing a ripe strawberry and getting to it before the raccoons can’t be beat. I make decisions with the plants. I have to observe closely. The tomatoes have “told” me where they want to be next year. They don’t want to be clumped together. They want to be scattered throughout the beds where they can get more sun. I’ve jotted their wishes down in my garden notes for the spring.

Garlic goes in this week. Russian red. I grew it last year and it came up beautifully. It’s mild and delicious and when I see my garlic braid hanging by the back door, I feel a sense of accomplishment.

Gardening whispers to me: grow.