The Grab Garden, or Turning a Toddler into a Master Gardener

Of the many parallels to be found between gardening and motherhood, nothing has stood out more to me than having to constantly curb that impatient voice in my head saying, “OK, that was cool, but what’s next?”

As a new mother, the past eight months of watching my daughter become more herself every day have been the greatest joy of my life.

Though I work to maintain a strong foothold in the present moment, observing all the little changes day by day that build up into leaps of progress in her personality, I still can’t help but look forward to seeing what she’ll be into years from now. What will her hobbies be? What will she become passionate about?

As a gardener, however, I want to nurture in her an obsession for gardens that would make mine pale, which is saying something. I am hoping for a co-conspirator. A little sidekick that can pick perennials like a pro. My comrade in cultivation, chirping from the back seat, egging me on to stop and see what flowers are in stock on our way home.

As soon as the weather turned in the spring, I incorporated a mini garden walkabout into our daily routine, eager to begin making introductions to all my potted treasures as well as the expanse of her grandparents’ cherished gardens and the collection of cool things I planted for them.

As buds began breaking dormancy, so too did her curiosity begin to bloom.

Studious observations turned into reaching out with her small fingertips to touch foliage, encountering the textures of waxy camellia, flossy chives, and fuzzy rhododendron. Then, in a blink of the eye, she discovered her grip strength.

I immediately put her to work deadheading the pansies, using her tightly closed fist to yank at the spent flowers, developing her instinct to encourage a nice succession of blooms.

It quickly became apparent that not all plants can handle a wrestling match with an infant. Anything with a delicate stem, shallow root system, or unknown culinary-use status would have to be appreciated from afar until we can reel in impulsivity.

Luckily, though, herbs have proved to be incredibly suitable opponents; strong crowns with stronger roots that would be a workout even for me to dislodge from their pots. And overall a safe bet when it comes to the expressway linking her hand to her mouth.

Marjoram and oregano are always in need of being pinched back to maintain a manageable size, so that keeps her busy most days.

A brief encounter with rosemary, lemongrass, or chives and she crawls away smelling like a bouquet garni.

Mint in particular can hold its own pretty well, given it is as stubborn as a baby on a mission. And regardless of how rough the round is, much to grandma’s dismay, it always bounces back.

A sizable sprig of mint also offers a flavorful exploration of the kitchen garden. Out of the salad patch, the thick ribs of kale leaves are great teethers, and so is a spear of green onion. But nothing beats a fresh plucked, mushed, and chaotically sampled raspberry.

As it is unwise to leave a baby completely unattended in the garden, all of her exploration is guided.

It’s still easy to manage risk while she’s not quite mobile yet. But as the day of her first step to full-blown sprint nears, the last thing I want is an encounter that sours her, or even my own, affinity for cultivating a connection with nature.

Opportunities for teachable moments are acutely acted upon, though what is today’s “yucky” could be tomorrow’s rite of passage. I distinctly remember eating and gagging on a mouthful of grass in my youth, so I can only assume she’ll eventually have a similar memory to fondly look back on, perhaps with a worm or handful of dirt.

Nevertheless, with proper behavior modeling and the usage of special occasion expletives, I think we’ll be able to instill a healthy respect for the real enemies of a good time, like random mushrooms, noxious weeds, and territorial insects.

If over time my little seedling drifts off and decides playing with plants isn’t her thing, I can only hope that by having included her in my own exploration of the endless wonder that is a garden, she too will follow her curiosity and without hesitation grab hold of her passions with the same tight fists and unbreakable determination.

But that is something in the far-off distance from the present now, where I am kneeling over our mess of potted herbs with my baby girl propped up on my knee, refereeing a match between her and the rosemary. A moment among the many I’ll surely look back on someday and think, “That was cool. Can we do it again?”