For the last couple of years I’ve watched in awe as my friend @bluefinstudios regularly shares his progress as he plans and starts his vegetable garden. He enjoys gardening and being able to provide his family, and others, with the bounty of the harvest.
Back when the pandemic descended upon us and he was immediately idled from his business and livelihood he took our mutual friend @dreemsteem’s suggestion to heart. She suggested that people focus on bringing something to life, like plants, and the term #grovid came into being.
So Why Am I Writing About This?
It’s definitely not because I grow a garden. I do good growing dustbunnies. Watching Blue does remind me of the large garden my family planted and tended when I was young. Eating from a garden was a regular part of our life.
I came across an article exploring gardening from the viewpoint of well known writers I found really interesting.
Virginia Woolf was raised in London, England. As WW1 drew to a close and the Spanish Flu pandemic was raging, she and her husband decided to leave the city. They found and purchased a 16th century cottage on an acre of land.
She knew nothing about gardening, but in time, with her husband Leonard’s guidance she found spending time tending gardens to be somewhat therapeutic. Noting in her diary:
“The first pure joy of the garden… weeding all day to finish the beds in a queer sort of enthusiasm which made me say this is happiness.”
And a few years later:
“I’ve had two very happy times in my life — childhood… and now. Now I have all I want. My garden — my dog.”
In her 50s she visited Shakespeare’s home. Seeing the garden outside of the study where he’d written such works as “The Tempest” she drew on her own gardening experience in recognizing the impact on his writing:
“Yes, everything seemed to say, this was Shakespeare’s, had he sat and walked; but you won’t find me, not exactly in the flesh. He is serenely…