Why one thoughtless comment reminded me that gardening belongs to everyone.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had my hands in the dirt.
I love gardening.
Alongside swimming, meditation, and the occasional run, it’s one of the things that keeps me grounded.
There’s something deeply restorative about tending a garden, the rhythm of it, the patience it requires, and the quiet reward of watching something grow.
I’ve always loved designing gardens too.
I study plans, think about symmetry, and obsess over structure.
Personally, I like formal lines that create a framework for wild, free-flowing perennials.
Every house we’ve ever lived in has started with a blank canvas, and every time I’ve built a garden from scratch.
Today, we live in a renovated church overlooking the Hudson.
At its center is a walled garden with a small soaking pool.
Water has always been important to me. I grew up by the ocean in Australia, and even now I find myself drawn to it daily.
From April through October, I jump into that pool every day.
Some mornings, standing in the freezing air on the edge of the pool feels like the bravest thing I’ll do all day.
The pool is only six feet deep and filled with salt water, but the silence beneath the surface feels almost sacred.
A few years ago, after a skiing accident, I began suffering from chronic migraines. Cold-water plunges have become one of the few things that consistently help keep them at bay.
When you’re in the pool, you’re at garden level. Yesterday, I floated quietly while watching a hummingbird move from one foxglove blossom to the next.
It was one of those tiny moments that felt so amazing.
Over the years, I’ve designed gardens for friends and clients, though these days I mostly focus on my own. My garden has been photographed and featured in magazines, so I feel reasonably confident in what I’m doing.
Which is why I was surprised when, at a recent dinner party, a new neighbor informed me that I had no idea what I was doing in the garden and that his “real landscaper” friends agreed.
This was particularly interesting given that our garden is entirely enclosed by walls and largely hidden from view.
I was caught off guard. I simply smiled and said, “Oh really?” before turning the conversation elsewhere.
But the comment stayed with me.
It’s funny how praise can wash over us like a warm wave, while criticism, especially when it feels unfair can linger far longer than it really deserves.
As I worked in the garden today, pulling weeds and deadheading flowers, I kept thinking about that conversation.
And I realized what bothered me wasn’t that someone disliked my garden.
It was the idea that gardening should somehow be judged at all.
Of course there are extraordinary gardens.
There are grand French gardens and romantic Italian gardens that make us swoon. There are seasoned professionals who create breathtaking landscapes for us to admire.
But gardening itself?
Gardening belongs to everyone.
You don’t need credentials to plant a tomato.
You don’t need permission to grow a cutting, scatter some seeds, or put a flower bed where there wasn’t one before.
In fact, the world would probably be a better place if more people gardened.
Gardening is good for us physically, mentally, and emotionally.
It gets us moving, lowers stress, slows us down, and connects us to something larger than ourselves.
And perhaps most importantly, it teaches us humility.
Every gardener fails.
Plants die. Designs don’t work. Things get eaten, flooded, frozen, or forgotten.
The only way to become a gardener is to keep going anyway.
To experiment.
To learn.
To try again next season.
So perhaps that dinner-party comment was useful after all. It reminded me that gardening isn’t a competition.
It’s not a performance.
It isn’t something that should be gatekept, judged, or gossiped about.
It’s simply an invitation.
An invitation to get outside, get your hands dirty, make mistakes, and pay attention to the natural world around you.
So here’s to all of us: the experts, the beginners, and everyone in between.
May we garden the day away.
May we make mistakes.
May we learn.
May we grow.
And may we never let someone else’s opinion stop us from planting something new!
xRebecca
