As a gardener and a garden writer, I’m always learning. Not a week goes by without me taking copious notes from books, magazines and podcasts; and I definitely watch my fair share of gardening videos, sometimes late at night, both in lieu of entertainment and for research purposes.
I am a visual learner through and through, so watching instructional videos is the most straightforward way for my brain to process and retain information.
Over the past few years, however, I’ve been noticing a shift in the tone of these gardening videos. It is perhaps a side-effect of the fast fast fast culture we find ourselves living in. Or I should say, thrown in.
I am afraid that, at some point, we’ll find gardening going the way of fast food, fast fashion and fast furniture. It will turn into yet another way to get instant gratification. If I’m not careful, my video feed quickly turns to overconsumption (buy buy buy more plants, look what you’re missing out on), impatience (plant this if you want results now) and inadequacy (here’s what you’re doing wrong).
Don’t get me wrong, there are so many knowledgeable creators that publish excellent instructional gardening videos. I’ll make a list of my favorites at some point. And YouTube is flooded with really useful and practical how-to, so there’s little point in me adding one more video on how to prune or divide or plant.
But I still wanted to keep a journal of my garden, in addition to Instagram. Something that would be not just useful, but meditative and mindful and, dare I say, poetic.
Slow gardening is already a thing, so I won’t pretend I’ve invented it. I’m just a humble practitioner, an always-learner, an observer and a grower.
Gardening is helping my mental health in ways that I couldn’t have imagined – ways I still find hard to put into words, although I sometimes try. And one of the ways is by teaching me to slow down, to notice and to accept what is.
In my first slow gardening video, I’m meditating on the idea of gardening as a canvas and of us, gardeners, as artists. But we don’t create in solitude when we garden; we collaborate with nature, with the seasons and even with wildlife. Our work is complete, but never finished.
If you have two minutes to spare today, have a look.
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