Focus on the gains, not the losses

An inexperienced gardener, I wanted to plant something at the “beginner’s level,” mostly to limit the chances of my efforts being fruitless and increasing the odds of achieving success in this field.

Therefore, we planted low-maintenance rose bushes, citronella, basil, peppermint, parsley, rosemary, cilantro, and strawberries.

The two strawberry sprouts I picked had tiny little white berries and a few blossoms, which meant that some sweet juicy fruits were in the making already! My three year old daughter could hardly wait for the fruits to ripe!

Just how hard can it be to grow strawberries, right? Well, it turned out not to be so easy for me! First, we planted the sprouts on the ground, at a reasonable distance from the next, the peppermint, on the corner of our strip of soil.

The first morning after planting them, most of the tiny fruits were gone. Could it be that some squirrel came and had dinner on our patio last night? Who knows! What I know for a fact is that protecting and nurturing the remaining berries is my mission now.

Next, I transplant the strawberry sprouts to a raised pot, to make it less accessible to any insect or crawling animal that might be craving our precious berries. All goes well for a few days, and the plants seem to be thriving until one morning I wake up to a horrific sight: the leaves have holes! Is it a plague? Is it the insects? What can I do to save them from a fatidic end?

Losing a plant would be just terrible, terrible! For someone struggling with anxiety and depression, like myself, it can only mean one thing: Here’s something else I can’t do right. As if I don’t feel inadequate in my own skin, this new endeavor is proving more difficult than I expected. 

Please don’t die, strawberry! If you survive and thrive it will mean the world to me: it will mean that I can be successful at something, anything! Just please, please, please, survive and thrive!

I go to the Home Depot and after showing pictures of the “holy” leaves, the advice of the garden expert is to use some non-toxic plague and insect killer, and so we do. After a few days of this treatment, the problem seems to have been curbed, and the strawberry plant is looking better.

Then July happens. And if you live in Texas, I need to say no more! The heat! The scorching summer heat! Our tiny berries? Burnt! It seems like almost overnight, my strawberry plants have dried! The leaves are almost brown, lifeless.

I decide I’ll do whatever it takes to save them. I move the pot to another spot in the patio so it doesn’t get a lot of sun during the day, and water it in the morning and even use a spraying bottle to mist it during the hottest hours of the day. I just can’t let them die! If they die, oh, dear Lord, if they die, it will mean that I can’t do anything right! Why, oh, why?

As I look at the brown leaves, spray bottle in hand, I think of the last few days of “intensive care therapy” I’ve spent tending to the strawberries at odd times during the day, coming to talk to them, encouraging them, and almost begging them to survive. It’s time to face the inevitable: They’ve died.

I have to accept it, as hard as I worked, I just couldn’t grow strawberries. What went wrong? What could I have done differently to save them? It really doesn’t matter. It’s not the end of the world. As I take them out of the pot, I take a moment to view the rest of my garden.

The basil is so big! The roses are blooming almost daily! The parsley, peppermint, and rosemary are thriving! Every evening when I water my plants, the smell of the herbs gives me joy! So much joy! It is so nice out here in our little patio after the sun went down, with the fresh aromas in the air!

And that’s what I need to keep in mind: I can’t dwell on the losses. Yes, the strawberries were a big failure, I tried my best and they didn’t survive, but look at the rest of my plants! Most of them are growing strong, thriving!

If I want to keep depression at bay, this is exactly what I have to do: focus on the positive and don’t let the negative linger in your mind for too long. Instead of thinking of the loss of my strawberries, I celebrate and feel thankful that the rest of my garden is making progress. I am not a failure after all! Yes, my only fruit plant died, oh well, nobody is perfect.

The cilantro died with the heat too, by the way, and that wasn’t the end of the world for me either. I managed to survive that loss and enjoy the aromas of the rosemary, citronella, and the other herbs that made it through the scorching Texas summer with me.

Love and hope,

Nancy C. Harris 

All that's left from my strawberries: A picture.