Step into my garden, baby! ♬♪ Welcome to my 2020 Garden, in all its messy, rambling and unexpected glory.

Truth be told, I didn’t think I would get to garden at all this year. Zine Con planning really ramps up during the summer, and I knew that putting together this year’s festival would be especially taxing: we need to find a new home for the event on a shoestring budget, which not only means scouting venues, but also drafting brand new table maps and seeking out additional sponsors to help cover venue costs. Keeping plants hearty and healthy through it all seemed like just one more commitment to add to an already full plate.

But then COVID-19 happened. It soon became clear that this year’s Zine Con would be a virtual event, and that my summer would be a lot less frantic. And as my day job shifted from office-work to telecommuting, I found myself enjoying the perfect conditions for giving gardening a go again.

Here’s how my garden was shaping up at the end of May:

I have three raised beds that span the northern side of my backyard. To the west is a garden bed dominated by this massive sage plant—

—that was in bloom all of May, inviting a dizzying assortment of bees and bugs out to play. If you could believe it, this plant started as a tiny potted starter that I bought at Aldi during a grocery run! It’s been thriving in this bed for years now.

I had to be strategic with where I planted my greens, which didn’t get sown until mid-April. A shady spot under the sage keeps them cool, and the pleasant May weather helped, too. My bok choy is grateful for all the shade the sage provides… and some bugs are clearly grateful for the bok choy! Lucky for them, I don’t mind holey greens.

(But I do mind squirrels! No squirrels allowed in this garden! 😉)

The middlemost bed is home to beets in bright jewel-tones, two varieties of tomatoes (a cherry type, as well as the delightfully-named heirloom “Mr. Stripey”), a poblano pepper, some basil, and a lovely golden oregano that stuck around from last season. I’m so excited to watch this bed thrive in the summer. For now, it feels full of possibilities: tomatoes and peppers that haven’t yet born fruit, beets still growing tender below ground.

I’m growing vining plants in the eastern bed: zucchini, watermelon, and my first spaghetti squash. This bed is massive, which makes it difficult to weed, so I’m hoping that the squash vines take up space and make it difficult for anything unwanted to root. I know they won’t cover all of the ground, however, so I’ve also sown flower seeds (poppies and zinnias) and planted a lavender bush that I bought on a whim.

A cucumber plant lives in a big pot on the back deck, basking in the sun. I love a good pickle, so I’m hoping that this guy is a prolific producer!

Mint and strawberries surround the deck, growing wild and happy. I’ve been harvesting little cups of strawberries for a snack all throughout late May; it feels like treasure-hunting, running my fingers through a tangle of stems and soft leaves, looking for bright spots of red. I have to harvest them quick, or those pesky squirrels will get to them first. They like to take a single bite out of a strawberry and then leave the ruined fruit on the edge of the deck. I think they’re taunting me…

Finally, we reach the front porch, home to these terracotta critters sporting basil and cilantro backpacks.

I’m so grateful that I’m able to garden this year. It is the silver-lining on this storm cloud.

My experience of this pandemic has been one of managing: getting through each day on that day’s terms, dealing with shit as it comes, and trying to make the best of things. I’m mourning what I’ve lost to this shifted world: stability, live music, a more comfortable future. And I’m trying to keep anxiety at bay. Honestly, how could I not be anxious right now? The virus looms, an invisible threat. Being infected means being subjected to America’s predatory, for-profit healthcare system, mountains of debt your life sentence if you survive. And on top of it all, our country is run by a white collar criminal fascist. For someone prone to panic like me, this moment is a terrifying one. It’s aggravating. It’s abominable.

But as the dust settles, I’m starting to feel less angry and more hopeful. There is so much to be hopeful about right now. We the people are taking action against systemic racism and the police state, and change is happening. A better world feels, for the first time in my lifetime, within reach. And then there is my garden, growing green and wild and unruly, like a symbol for hope, full of new growth, a reminder of a new tomorrow.