Arrogant Enough to Think This Would Be My Best Garden Yet
The garden had other plans. The preacher showed up. And I was the one who wilted first.
As I lay on the hammock, looking at the two new dahlia beds I added this spring, my heart is heavy. These flowers know what I know. We’ve been to hell and back.
I want to ask someone, “Is this normal?”
But this season's dahlia garden? Normal left the building in March.
Per successful years past, I stored my tubers each individually sealed in saran wrap and tucked into plastic shoe boxes. They would sit through winter at a friend’s house, in a garage that isn’t temperature-controlled. Some of you think you know where this is going based on that last sentence but hang on a second, I’m about to hand you an avalanche of calamity.
When a few unseasonably warm/cold/warm days hit in early March, I panicked. I knew that dramatic swings between hot and cold weren’t good for this method of storage. I worried they’d rot so I checked on them, and sure enough, a few felt reeeaally soft.
A few out of hundreds isn’t bad… but I knew if I didn’t act fast, I’d lose them all.
So, you know… I just planted three hundred dahlia tubers indoors.
You heard me. I never said I was sane.
Welcome to the indoor garden
I was eager and did what anyone obsessed with their garden would do. I overcompensated. I gave them the perfect everything… shelves upon shelves with wired-in grow lights, water, whispers. Don’t ask how long it took to craft the perfect blend of dirt that could make anything grow from here to heaven. So they thrived. TOO MUCH.
They grew. And grew. FAST.
Until everyone in the house was “over it”.
Yes, I’ve apologized.
They hit the ceiling and in an act of solidarity, (a very solid fuck you, to me) intertwined to the point that separating them felt impossible. And I panicked again, because they went from lush to leggy. By the time the roots were busting out of their 6-8” pots, I still couldn’t move them outside. The weather wasn’t warm enough.
Insane move number two:
I bought bigger pots. More dirt. More sorcery. I repotted nearly half.. the ones where roots were bursting through the holes at the bottom. I was running a botanical triage unit IN OUR HOME.
*Immediately feels the need to apologize again.
As soon as the threat of frost disappeared, I moved the plants outside. It felt cruel, because this year, I’ve actually been feeling more together… grounded. I wanted the garden to reflect that, to be a mirror of the inner growth I’ve worked so hard for. Instead, the garden was limping.
When I finally planted the dahlias in the ground, they weren’t tubers anymore. Some were three to four-foot-tall plants and they wilted the second they went into the ground. I felt desperate. I asked AI what to do and while my fingers shook and I typed, I thought: When was the last time AI had its hands in the dirt?
AI replied: “Think of them like unruly teenagers. Stake them up — offer them the support they need. They’ll straighten out.”
Some never recovered, but most did. Still, this year’s lot is an unruly bunch. I’ve never seen an entire crop look so… rough. I know what they’ve been through and I see the wear and tear.
The weather hasn’t been kind either. We’ve had a drought and the days have been punishingly hot. The Canadian wildfires gave Chicagoland “the worst” air quality in the country. I’ve had to do more trimming and staking.
I remember looking at the beds the day I planted them and thinking: Would I even take photographs of this? I always document the process… but this?
I did it anyway. I caught the good, the bad, the spindly. Oof. Most were barely holding on.
One evening, while thick in pulling weeds (oh the analogies around weeding), I found myself saying: “Gardens aren’t just teachers… they’re preachers!!” They speak in parables. They’re not always gentle but they’re always honest. This year, my garden has been preaching surrender.
I remember how excited I was while prepping my tubers for dormancy last Fall. I worked with great gusto! I’ve learned so many lessons (the hard way) over the years, that maybe I thought I’d learned enough! Hahahaha. I was hell bent on making this years dahlia garden produce the grandest blooms yet! After all, I make art from my blooms.
Nothing went as planned. Nature schooled me every step of the way. And yet… now, in August, I walk through the garden and see something that stuns me. Despite it all… there are blooms. Big, beautiful blooms.
It’s not my “prettiest” garden, but it’s been the most earned and alive.
From home to studio
Mother Nature told me… success doesn’t always look like elegance or ease, sometimes, it looks like resilience.
If your heart lives somewhere between beauty and chaos these days? Welcome. You’re in good company. You're in the garden.
If this resonated, leave a comment or share it with a fellow grower (of plants, art, or self). I’m so glad you’re here.
Ann