There's patience, and then there's kiwi vines!
She did it again, my good buddy Mother Nature has thrown me another lesson—this time, it's patience. Who knew growing fruit would require more than a shovel and a pile of dirt?
As many of you know, at the beginning of COVID, I was inspired by the documentary “The Biggest Little Farm.” If you still haven’t seen it, I highly recommend setting aside an evening to do so—it’s absolutely beautiful, both in terms of the story and cinematography, and well worth your time.
It is the story of John and Molly, and their seven-year adventure of trading in their big-city lives for a lifelong dream of transforming an old, deserted, and dried-up farm in Northern California into an oasis of organic produce and livestock that inspired me to do the same with our backyard—sans the livestock! I followed their lead in using traditional regenerative farming practices where, as the keepers of the land, one works in harmony with Mother Nature, not against her. Certainly sounds nice, but whoooweeee, as I found out, it’s more challenging than one might think.
Mother Nature doesn’t take kindly to being hurried—everything happens on her schedule. To use a dancing metaphor, she always leads. At no point, no matter how clever you think you may be, does anything, and I mean anything, move at a pace other than that which is determined by her. It’s actually one of the things that I’ve grown to appreciate about spending time in the garden with her; there’s no such thing as fast gardening. I’ve learned to slow down and move purposefully, making my time amongst the trees and plants more efficient and thorough.
Mother Nature likes time—in fact, she demands it. Time is what’s required for almost everything to perfectly line up for a seed to grow into something we eventually eat. When I first planted our young fruit trees, I was told it would take three to five years for them to bear fruit. “What? Three to five years,” I objected. “You want me to feed, water, and prune these trees for three to five years before I get anything in return? That’s ridiculous!” In hindsight, knowing my tendency for impatience, I’m surprised I didn’t bail right then and there.
That was almost seven years ago. Today, the wait has returned gifts in spades. We’re in the midst of ripe raspberries like we’ve never seen. I just picked one of our cherry trees clean last night. Blueberries are around the corner, and our loganberries are coming ripe as well. By the end of the month, we’ll be eating plums, and goji berries will be ready, too. By autumn, the pears, apples, potatoes, squash, garlic, blackberries, and Niagara grapes will be fit for harvesting. In the meantime, our vegetable garden keeps us well-stocked in greens, rhubarb, peppers, zucchini, and cucumbers. It’s been a culinary explosion the likes of which I would’ve never imagined.
However, more than the incredible haul that we reap each year, equally important for me has been the education that I’ve received from my dancing partner. Mother Nature has, with kid gloves, forced me to be more patient. When mistakes have been made, and there have been many, I reflect on what to do differently in the future. The trouble is that the future isn’t tomorrow, next week, or even next month; it’s next year! Embracing that unsettling paradigm has been game-changing—there’s no quick fix with Mother Nature; she always requires time. And therein lies the unavoidably painful yet transformative lesson of patience.
Kiwis were one of the plants I purchased when I first started. I love kiwis—I eat them pretty much every day. While at our local gardening centre all those years ago, I learned that I needed a male and a female to garner some of those fuzzy gems. Dutifully, I planted them side by side on the cables I had set up for the other trees that I was espaliering along our southwest-facing fence. Now, seven years later, I have two beautiful vines that produce stunning blossoms every year. The conundrum is that none of those blossoms have ever produced fruit.
This year, I returned to the store from where I purchased the vines to ask the obvious question, “How much longer am I going to have to wait?”
“Hmmm, you might have two kiwi plants of the same sex,” I was told. “Sometimes they get mislabelled.”
I couldn’t believe it. Home, I went frustrated beyond belief. One quick look online at what male and female kiwi blossoms look like, and sure enough, I deduced that I had two males—of course I did!
So, the plan was to pull up one of the healthy males and replace it with a female. Knowing now that a male kiwi plant can fertilize up to six females, I decided to get two more. We now have a mature male and three immature females growing alongside one another. And, you guessed it, it’ll be another three to five years before we see any fruit—f@ck!!!
Back to the gifts—yes, although I didn't expect or go looking for it when I began, patience has been one of them. I am far more willing to wait this time than I was back in 2019. I now have a learned appreciation of what’s required for the miracle of growing food, of which I’m now immersed in.
Naturally, there’s an obvious question lurking: “If you can wait years for a piece of fruit, then how come you can’t wait a few minutes for … well, truthfully, fill in the blank!”
When I was younger, I knew my Olympic dream would require years of dedication. The same goes for school; I accepted that years would be required to complete my degrees. Now, did I think it would be as many as it was? Okay, probably not! As a rowing coach, too, I understood that it could take up to two years to build a world-class crew. Today, I must admit that I struggle with embracing a timeline that involves years for my current pursuits to be completed.
They say, “Patience is a virtue.” For moral reasons, we are encouraged to be more patient. Turns out there are plenty of more good reasons to embrace what’s on offer in a garden. Apparently, allowing for more time can improve our decision-making, enhance our relationships, support our goals, and help us resolve conflicts more easily. Patience also helps reduce stress and anxiety and improves our mental and physical health.
So why the struggle? Why is it that slowing down and allowing for more time seems like such a tall order? I remember when I was freelancing as a designer, and I would ask clients when they needed the finished work; many of them would answer, “Yesterday.” They’d smile, acknowledging the joke, but the message was sent: Hurry up!
For obvious reasons, I’m going to try embracing what my dance partner has taught me in other aspects of my life. I mean, if I can wait for kiwis, then surely I can wait for something else.
"In gardening, patience turns a seed into a feast, one slow sunrise at a time."
—Unknown
This is a beautiful piece of writing, Jason. It was a pleasure to read.