TThe first week of January is, of course, New Year’s resolution time. So, on a sunny afternoon, I always resolutely bundle up, step outside, and have a talk with my garden. I want to make sure it’s learned from last year’s mistakes and made some plans to improve.

I sit on the bench, cold but resolved, ready for a serious soul-to-soil talk.

“So,” I start off, “what would you say for how you did in 2023?”

“Pretty darned well, if you ask me,” the plot replies. “Broccoli, sweet corn, peas, and beans were all up. Mexican bean beetles and cabbageworms were down. Chard and carrots started slow, but came on strong. And kale—well, you were eating fresh kale on Thanksgiving, were you not?”

“True,” I reply, “and I thank you gratefully. But are you perhaps forgetting anything?”

“Why, no, I don’t think so,” says the soil, but it’s obviously covering something up.

“I’ll give you a hint. Spaghetti sauce? Mexican salsa? Bacon lettuce and blank sandwiches?”

“Oh, tomatoes! Oh, well, um, yes, tomatoes.”

“Nary a one. Twelve plants staked, trellised, and weeded—and not a single ripe fruit.”

“Bad year for blight, wasn’t it? Sorry.”

We go on, covering other shortcomings I point out. The poor potato turnout. The lousy statice germination. The ornamental corn crop that fell over in a windstorm. I’m just about to bring up the less-than-stellar sunflowers when the garden interrupts.

“How did you do in 2023?” it says.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re trying to grow some things, too, you know. Like a magazine?”

“GreenPrints? Hey, it’s coming out monthly, using color, and offering audio stories!”

“That’s very nice,” the garden agrees. “But I asked how it’s growing.”

“Well. It’s holding its own. Growing, yes—and I’m grateful for that. But there’s room for more. There always is, you know.”

“And yourself?” The garden asks.

“I’m growing older! Every year!”

The garden sees right through this weak joke, but doesn’t say anything. It waits, patiently.

“OK,” I admit, breaking the silence, “I am exercising regularly. I’m trying hard to be a better spouse to my wife, Becky. I do lots of projects and spend as much time as I can with our wonderful grandkids.”

The garden keeps waiting, not saying a word.

“All right. I am too self-involved. I don’t reach out to others as much as I should. I’m working on losing my temper less, but, no, I am not as patient and tolerant as I should be. Not as kind. Loving. I have days where … ”

We talk a good while longer, my garden and I. When the weak Winter sun dips in the west, I head back inside. 2023 was a good year, we’ve both agreed. A year of definite growth. But 2024 is going to be better. Much better.

We’ve both resolved to make it so. ❖