Planning A Perfect Garden

This year, for the first time, I found myself hoping for a perfect garden. I didn’t expect miracles. I knew there would be pests, and that both insects and diseases would continue to be a factor. I knew some seeds would not germinate, and others would germinate so well that they would be overcrowded in the beds, and need thinned. What was perfect—I hoped—was the design of the garden.

I began the growing season by planting things outside the garden, in the planter boxes I had built from pallets. By the time April arrived, I had rows of baby pea plants, reaching for the teepee strings I had provided.

My radishes had sprung to life, followed by tiny carrots. I still had to thin the carrots, but I was able to do it standing upright, which made the task physically easier. If the tiny seedlings had to be murdered in their beds, I could at least stand and face them. It all made me very hopeful for the garden itself, where I had set up fourteen similar boxes, all made from oak cranberry shipping crates.

One by one, I had moved them into place, working them through the garden gate and into their places. The six-foot-tall fence I had built around my garden made it more difficult. Still, it kept out deer, and bears, and my daughter’s two small dogs, who seemed to think digging holes everywhere possible was a good idea. It was not.

Once in the garden, the boxes unfolded, since the corners were attached with nylon straps that served as hinges, and opened into their almost square shape. I ran twine across the garden to delineate the paths, so I could set the boxes in straight, even rows.

With the boxes in place, I worked on providing a base for paths. As I had done in other areas, I started by laying down cardboard or discarded carpet pads as a cushion and protection.

The black plastic I laid on top would stop weeds from springing up—even the salal, blackberries, and huckleberries that were so fruitful and beautiful in other areas of the property. I loved them, but I didn’t want them in my garden. Punctures from below would have made the plastic ineffective, so my cardboard cushion was a second line of defense.

On top of the plastic, I laid down strips of old carpet. Some of it was from small pieces we had bought at garage sales for specific uses, and were done with. Other pieces had been rescued after being torn out of houses in the neighborhood. I had carried them home (dragged, actually) when the neighbors didn’t want them. A razor knife helped me cut the carpet into the 15-18” strips that fit my paths. Laying that on top of the plastic helped to prevent punctures from above.

Over the course of the winter, I had gotten the garden set up, with boxes and paths where I wanted them. Because I liked to let my chickens out into the garden to clean up and fertilize the soil, I had one other things to consider. When one hen flew up to roost on the fence’s top rail, and then flew down outside of the garden, I knew I had to take steps to keep them inside the fence. I had one other concern, as well. My area was home to a large number of hawks and bald eagles. Because my hens would be appealing as mid-morning snacks, I had to find a way to keep the hawks out, as well as the chickens in.

I tried weaving a roof of twine, but it wasn’t effective. Another hen flew out. I added bird netting, but it drooped so low it brushed my head. My son-in-law, who is significantly taller than I am, had even more trouble. He walked through the garden awkwardly hunched over, and I wanted us both to be able to stand upright in the garden.

I had been gathering washed up rope at the beach ever since I had moved here, knowing that someday I would find a practical use for it. I used the rope to make a spiderweb, placing lines that crossed crossed the garden from side to side, meeting in the middle. Then I added spiraling ropes of contrasting colors, because that’s what I found on the beach. The rope held the bird netting up, and when I set up supports here and there in the garden to lift the ropes, I had more headroom. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked.

As a side benefit, the bird netting confused and entangled the raccoons who regularly climbed the garden fence I’d never been able to keep raccoons out with a fence, unless it had a wire top, but after one young raccoon dangled by one foot, and another fought to free a front paw from the netting, they didn’t return for a while. It wasn’t a guarantee, but it was encouraging.

I did one more thing to make sure birds saw the webs and didn’t dive toward my chickens, unaware of the nearly invisible bird netting. I made a spider. I put a support post, with cross pieces, in the middle of the garden, and then filled a black garbage bag with crumpled newspapers. I taped that in place, and then added jointed legs, which were also taped to the ropes wherever they crossed. From the sky, my garden appeared to have a giant spiderweb over it, complete with a big, black, scary spider. If that didn’t warn the hawks to stay away, nothing would. Besides, it made me smile.

Meanwhile, I had ordered another ten cubic yards of dirt–extra-good topsoil this time, because although the compost worked well, it contained chunks of wood, and a few rocks, which were difficult for small roots to avoid. The dirt was delivered, and left in a huge pile in front of the house. As intimidating as that pile was, the rows of empty boxes in my garden were more so. If I hoped to garden in my new raised boxes, I had to get them filled.

I gathered the five-gallon buckets I used in my yardwork. Initially, I moved only three or four buckets a day, but gradually I increased to twelve buckets a day. At that rate, it took me several days to fill a single planting box, and I worried that I might not have all the beds filled in time to plant the late crops. I was trying. The pile got smaller, but slowly. The boxes filled, a bit each day. I was too slow.

Then Superman arrived, to save the day. Wait, maybe that was what Mighty Mouse said. Never mind. Superman came, in the form of my daughter’s husband. He didn’t have far to come, since he and my daughter share the property with me, but still . . . . One Saturday, Kristin filled buckets, and Andrew carried them. The two of them moved eighty buckets of dirt. The next weekend, they moved more. I kept hauling my twelve buckets every day. The pile became a mere fraction of its original size, a shrinking dark butte in front of the house. I kept working, and they kept helping, until the pile was gone, and the boxes were filled.

I was ready to plant. Because I had used the planter boxes outside the garden I knew how much more comfortable I was going to be planting and working in the new raised beds. I could hardly wait for the weather to be warm enough to plant the whole garden, but in the meantime, I started with more peas, some lettuce, and chard. I planted without as much back pain, because I could sit on the edge of the adjacent beds, or lean on the edge of the one I was planting. I loved my new, raised-bed garden!

I had not decided what to do to cover the carpet on the paths. It kept the weeds down, but eventually I would need to cover it, before the sun rotted it away. In the past, I had used wood chips, and those worked. They did eventually decompose, and weeds did grow among the chips. If I had all the money I wished I had (who does, anyway?) I would have hired a concrete truck, and poured permanent paths. That way, I could have swept up any dirt that got spilled from the beds, and weeds would have had no chance.

I considered buying cement patio blocks or stepping stones, and setting them as closely as possible in the paths, filling any gaps with pea gravel. The carpet, plastic, and cardboard I already put down would still prevent weeds from coming up between the stepping stones, and though dirt fallen from the beds (or thrown out by scratching chickens, in the winter) would sift through, there would not be enough of it to grow many weeds, or let them get very big.

All of my adult life, I have dreamed of a garden with really raised beds. I imagined the joys of working in a garden without stooping, kneeling, or squatting. I finally made my raised-bed garden, and it was free. I still had work to do. The beds were not quite level, and I adjusted them as the dirt settled and shifted. The support poles for the bird netting shifted, too, so I worked on getting them straight and secure. Still, at least the beds were there, ready to use. I was happy, and I looked forward to seeing how it all worked out.