Photo: ©Zoë Kessler, 2011

It’s often said that our external environment is a reflection of what’s going on inside us.  It’s with this in mind that I’ve decided to take you on a tour of this year’s balcony garden.

I must warn you: it’s not one of those wonderful garden tours where you go from estate to estate, ooh-ing and aaah-ing over luxurious flower beds which the owner has planned to change from golds and yellows to purples and pinks, with such skillful scheduling that an ADHDer can only look on with envy as the season unfolds; …no, it’s not one of those gardens.

My balcony garden is in pots which have been discarded by neighbors as rubbish. The balcony itself was quarantined this summer, with an early spring promise from my former landlady that yes, she would repair the rotting railing and decrepit flooring so that none of my house guests might plummet to their death as a result of their casually leaning on the wobbly wooden fence, drink in hand, under an inky sky dotted with mercury-white stars, their animated face lit with soft candlelight whilst they spout clever witticisms (as every friend of an ADHDer is wont to do, cleverness being a prerequisite to friendship with an ADHDer).

Sadly, said landlady’s promise occurred prior to her sneakily selling the property “as is” out from under my feet, thus squandering my entire growing season while I naively waited for her to keep her word.  Grrr.

Anyway, here’s the upshot of all that, as revealed in our pictorial walk-about and commentary vis à vis the garden as a reflection of my life.

Gameplan versus wild

Zoë's Stairway to Pesto 2010 / Stairway of Weeds 2011

Last year, I had a game plan. I spent long, enjoyable hours planning and planting my garden, as exemplified by what I affectionately dubbed, “The Stairway to Pesto.”  This year – no plan. Things grew how and where they wanted. I saved a lot of time, but the results were completely unpredictable. Needless to say, instead of last year’s 109 basil plants, I had none. My pesto was store-bought this summer.

Weeds: a matter of perspective

Being unable to work the garden, I left the abandoned pots, soil in tact, to their own devices. I learned to appreciate the gorgeous and lush variety of weeds that grew, rising up from the soil, called forth solely by mother nature’s hand. Before my ADHD diagnosis, this is how my unstructured life felt for many years: lush and natural. Unfortunately, one similarity between my unstructured balcony garden and my unstructured ADHD life is that neither is commercially viable.

Nonetheless, I’ve developed a great appreciation for the unexpected gifts and variety of weeds.  I’ve also developed a deep appreciation for the unexpected gifts and variety of those struggling with mental health issues. We may not always be the most productive and commercially viable people in our communities, but, damn it, we’re beautiful, we’re varied, we’re multitudinous and we bring joy to the beholder who has eyes to see.

The dead sunflower

Midway through the summer, my lovely neighbor presented me with a beautiful sunflower plant. Perfect. I’d been saddened by the fact that I hadn’t had time to plant sunflower seeds this year, and this seemed a cosmic intervention from a benevolent universe.

Neglected, the sunflower died when I went away for four days, to be at my mom’s deathbed.

Fruits of my labour

This year, the transplanted irises bloomed. An unexpected gift was that their color was purple, and purple irises are my favorite flower.

After the disappointment of not having sunflowers this year; then being given sunflowers; then having those sunflowers die; low and behold – last year’s sunflowers popped up again! I had no idea they were perennial. Another unexpected gift of flowers.

The purple irises and surprise sunflowers reflect my writing life: some of the seeds I’d planted through my previous work yielded predictable but

Zoë's surprise sunflowers; Photo ©Zoë Kessler, 2011

nonetheless delightful gifts, while some results (like the second generation of sunflowers I didn’t expect) have taken me by surprise, and given me great joy.

All in all, this summer’s balcony garden reminds me that I’ve made a lot of sacrifices, and suffered some losses, to focus on what matters most. I’ve been able to appreciate life’s gifts, planned and surprise, and I’ve accepted life’s inevitable and unavoidable losses, even death.

Before I knew that I’d spend all summer waiting for the balcony to be fixed, I prepared the pots by removing last year’s dead plants. This year’s balcony garden teaches another life lesson: it’s always worthwhile to prepare the soil. Then we must wait to see what life might bring. I’ve enjoyed watching the mystery unfold.

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    Last reviewed: 8 Sep 2011