Susan and her new garden.

By Susan Shanklin

As many of you know, Tom and I moved from a farm site in Mankato, Minnesota, full of lilacs and flowering perennials with gardens that were started from scratch to, well, would you say, a desert of destruction in Scandia, Minnesota, about one year and 9 months ago.

I really have a true love of plants and flowers. They make me happy. They comfort my soul. Am I the most knowledgeable horticulturist? Nope, just a happy dirt digger.

Last summer, I tried to bring life to a clay-base soil only to be rejected by it. I planted sun-loving perennials in the shade, unaware that the large red oak and maple boughs in the front yard would shade the struggling newbies. 

Then came the “terminators” to put in a septic system, tearing up the back yard from top to bottom after Tom removed a portion of a chain link fence, at which time I rescued a few weed-choked lilies and phloxes along the outside of the chain link fence.

Ok, where do I plant flowers, Lord? 

People often say, “ Bloom where you are planted.” Now, that is the silliest quote ever. How can you bloom if you are in the shade? How can you bloom if your soil is depleted? How can you bloom if you don’t have the right companion plants? 

Reject that thought! Life is your garden, and gardens take work. Lots of work!

I had all winter to plan and think and dream. I added my ideas to a Pinterest board. I read books. I bought a dream book of English Gardens for Americans. Ha! 

I got a sketchbook and wrote in it and visualized a garden.

I had to take the knowledge that I had from former gardens and choose plants I was familiar with and maybe throw an experimental plant or two in with the bunch. 

I had the longing and the desire, but roadblocks would seemingly set me back. I had to choose a living garden over a dream garden. Dreams are good and a starting point, but just like God did for Adam by breathing life into his lungs, I had to breathe life into my dream for a flower garden.

Spring came, and roadblock number one came, a total knee replacement. 

During this down and painful time, I continued to dream and research. I was tempted to let the dream go. Shrug, I’m 73 and gardens are a lot of work, especially starting from scratch. It won’t be until fall that I will be able to dig, haul, and transplant those plants I stuck in pots months ago. 

Just give up, Susan. Succumb to natural aging and feebleness. Just go and lay down and die.

Yikes! Get thee behind me, Satan! What God has begun in me He will complete it. I’m an overcomer by the blood of the Lamb. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.

Ok, pep talk over. 

Reality sets in. Believe it or go home. 

“Tom, would you till up the area next to the fence for a flower garden?” I say in early September.

“You need a plan,” the wise one says. (My eyes roll.)

“Oh, I have one.” I lie. Well, kind of. It’s in my head.

Tom says he needs a path for his jumbo-riding lawn mower to go from the fence gate to the backyard. 

That’s fine, methinks. I’ll just have two flower gardens then. One on each side of YOUR path.

Tom has his son-in-law return the borrowed tiller, and I wait. 

“Tom, can you till up my garden?” 

“Tom, can you till up my garden?”

“Tom, can you till up my garden?” 

Yes, I’m a delightful nagger.

Tom’s a busy man, and I know that, but I am me … and I wanted it yesterday.

The happy day comes, and Tom tills a large half-moon-shaped bed full of rocks, chunks of turf, and leftover debris. 

I walk out there and survey the reality vs. the dream. 

Ok, I can do this! I’m not the steadiest on lumpy ground, and my feet and knees hurt, but I know what I have to do. Remove chunks of turf, rocks, and debris. 

Your garden needs to be free of turf, rocks, and debris, folks. Just saying.

Rome wasn’t built in a day, they say, but it took two for me. 

I do remove turf, most of the rocks and debris, and replant Blackeyed Susans and Silva.

It’s a start. It’s a beginning. The dream becomes a garden. 

Ha, you say. Pretty meager garden you’ve got there, Susan. Kind of slim pickings. I don’t see it, Susan.

Of course, you don’t. It’s my dream. My garden. You’ll just have to wait to see with your natural eyes what God has planted in my heart. Just you wait and see what the Lord hath done for me.

Digging for Jesus!

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