I Wanna Plant an Herb Garden

I've wanted an herb garden for a long time.

My paternal grandfather's second wife had one in her backyard, in mulched beds between her screened porch and outbuilding and the next door neighbor's house that contained a pet snake, a statue of St. Francis and a birdbath adding dimension and, to my early childhood eyes, mysticism.

I'd have tea parties out there, asking for "canine crunchies" (having been heavily influenced by the original 101 Dalmatians at the time) for me and a teddy bear, and receiving a dish of cat treats in return.

Knowing me, I probably ate some of them.

As I aged, I coveted such an herbal paradise. Inside her house, my paternal step-grandmother made oil infusions in glass jars and maintained an appreciation for Celtic heritage that she tried to instill in me, I think. It took on some levels, perhaps, mostly in fits and starts. The first CD I bought myself years later was one by The Chieftains.

She's out of my life now and reportedly deceased, but what a resource she could have been to adult me.

Another matriarchal figure, my mother's sister, gave me basil seeds when I moved back to Ohio. I tried to explain to her that I tended to kill every plant I touched, but she insisted that basil is easy. How nice to have someone to believe in me.

I planted it in a little pot on the patio fence. Eventually, it did indeed start growing.

A squirrel immediately dug up the sprouts and destroyed it.

These days, I'm looking for activities to keep me away from my little screen (smartphone), distracted from the medium-sized screen I stare at all day (work laptop), and occupied until it's too dark to do anything else but look at the big screen (television, typically watched while crocheting or snuggled into my partner's armpit).

And, in the interest of letting myself things that have long been denied, one of those activities is planning to grow an herb garden.

I ordered a bundle of 35 herb seeds on Amazon (I know, I know), with a separate packet of mugwort making it 36. I sorted them into what should be cold-stratified, what should be started x or y number of weeks before the last frost, what should be directly sewn once all frosty danger has passed.

I used rubber bands and, after running out of the half-handful, elastic hair ties to bunch the packets together with notes scrawled on post-its. I looked up the average last frost day online, then counted backwards in next year's daily planner to mark the dates things will need to happen per letter-coded bunch.

I've been saving kitty litter jugs to make tiny mid-winter greenhouses in February. The yogurt tubs that make my breakfast parfaits will be repurposed into planters. In one test run, I learned that stabbing the plastic bottoms with scissors creates long line breaks, but quick jabs with a biro are less catastrophic (albeit also less likely to penetrate).

On a long flight in October, I spent some of the time sketching out macrame plant hanger designs with two or three tiers. Some prototypes could be hung from nails. Others could be draped over railings (in theory). Some might involve looping knotted cords through themselves to be tied onto horizontal crosspieces.

None of them really account for the destructive capacity of our local slugs and fauna.

I've also entertained ideas of co-opting the space around my two south-facing windows to start or keep my herbs indoors. One window hosts a kitchen counter. The second is home to the power strip that feeds my router, beside with sits my dining room table. Thick dowels hold my curtains up on that one. Maybe plants could live there, as long as I can be a careful water bearer? Maybe the grow lights like the ones I've been eyeing online and spotting through other people's windows could be useful?

So many possibilities.

And outside! My sister has very kindly, to local wildlife and to me and probably to herself, transformed much of my yard into a garden, with multiple pollinator patches as well as raised beds for vegetables. I don't want to use space she's claimed, and don't want to upset the habitat she's built.

She'd probably never forgive me if I introduce the peppermint and lemon balm seeds that were included in my purchase to the outdoors. We're already overrun in spots by both.

As well as distracting me from screens, this project also serves to keep me semi-occupied in winter. Having finally decided this year that summer is actually a garbage season, I'm trying to lean into everything cozy and hopeful about the coldest months. As long as these efforts don't culminate in total degradation, we should be okay.

And it's not even to start a personal apothecary, although the concept is charming. I just like herbs. They have health benefits and make food and beverages more interesting.

Most of all, though, I like rubbing a plant between my fingers and then having a sniff at what compounds I've activated. And being able to safely put a green thing from nature in my mouth with relative certainty it won't harm me too badly.

Come on, dead of winter. I want to get started.