Gardening

My entire life I have been obsessed with plants and the natural world. As a very young child living along the coast of northern Oregon and southern Washington, I spent countless hours making secret hiding places in blackberry patches (several species of Rubus) and eating the copious wild berries that occur in the Pacific Northwest. I played with horsetail (Equisetum arvense) and sucked on flowers of the many species of clovers (Trifolium spp.).

When I was four or five years old, I happened upon a potted specimen of Pork n' Beans Sedum (Sedum x rubrotinctum) and picked a stem because it was interesting. It was in my windowsill for months (I had forgotten about it) with several other flowers I was drying out of curiosity. When I rediscovered the stem, it had several red, thread-like growths snaking out of it. I took the stem to my neighbor, an old crotchety gardener I bugged a lot. He told me they were roots, and that this stem was trying to live independently from the plant from which I had picked it. That concept amazed me, and when I learned that most succulent plants could be grown this way, I soon pilfered cuttings from the entire neighborhood.

When I moved to the Hudson Valley in New York State, I found growing plants more difficult. The cold winter climate and instability of my family put my interest on hold, but only for a short while: I found day lilies naturalized at a house we lived in for a few years. I also spent a lot of time hiking and camping in the lush forests of the Catskills and Adirondack mountain ranges, especially as a teenager. I did somehow always manage to maintain clones of that Sedum plant which I brought with me in my pocket whenever we moved (like Johnny Appleseed).

It wasn't until I moved to the west coast that my interest rekindled into an unstoppable obsession. This was especially true when I encountered an agave in San Francisco, just before I moved to Arizona. I had never seen such a plant. The bloom-stalk was as high as a telephone pole, yet it was a fleshy succulent plant! I was supposed to be going somewhere important, but stopped at the plant for a long time, and then headed straight to the nursery to find out what this amazing plant was (I think I was supposed to be at a job interview).

About 15 years ago I ended up in Tucson, Arizona, where I studied ecology and evolutionary biology at the University of Arizona, and became president of the Arizona Native Plants Society. I also worked for noted ethnobotanist Richard Felger.

I came to realize that plant people usually fall into one of two distinct groups. There are the brainy botanists who study floras, ethnobotany, and taxonomy and are prone to spout botanical names. And then there are the more pragmatic horticulturists who focus on growing and collecting plants. I am a hybrid of the two. I have worked in nurseries (and even owned a small nursery for a while). I have maintained gardens throughout most of my adulthood. But I have also spent an obscene amount of time buried in books and academic periodicals and writing everything from ethnobotanical histories to rare plant profiles. I have studied the wild areas of the southwest U.S. and northern Mexico, observing the wild plants and making specimens for the University of Arizona's herbarium.

Now, at age 36, I have embraced my identity wholeheartedly. I am a plant-freak. I think about plants all day. I lose sleep at night thinking about something I want to try to grow. I write about my efforts in a variety of media, including my blog,  www.plantfreak.wordpress.com. Though I try to stick to plants that are appropriate for the hot, dry Tucson climate, such as our southwestern native plants, cacti, succulents, etc., I have succumbed to the allure of orchids, bromeliads, and lots of other humidity-loving tropical things that take some skill to maintain. And of course, I have always grown herbs and vegetables. What I cannot grow, I read about. My friend Mark Dimmitt, another amazing plant-freak, says that plant-freakness is probably a disorder similar to alcoholism or gambling, but unnoticed by psychologists because those who are afflicted never seek help! I have to admit my obsession meets such criteria.

So what brought me here? This fall, like many other Americans, I found myself looking for a job. My girlfriend sent me a link to a craigslist posting which called for a gardener for a large organic garden. "You need to be back in your field," she told me. When I sent my resume I had no idea how perfect this job would be for me. Dr Weil has met my enthusiasm with much support, and has provided me a large space in which to grow all things edible and beyond. We do everything organically (my preferred method of raising plants) using innovative techniques that closely resemble the cycles and processes found in nature. We don't use synthetic fertilizers or pesticides of any kind, preferring instead beneficial insects and microorganisms, compost teas, and other organic methods that don't poison the environment or the plants we try to protect.

My job is challenging. One moment I am planting lettuce seedlings or setting out lacewing eggs. The next, I am trying to figure out why a greenhouse heater has not worked through the night. Our garden is situated to the south of the Rincon Mountains, east of Tucson, which gives us colder temperatures than are found in the surrounding desert, and supports a plethora of wild animals that can create a lot of problems for anyone trying to grow plants. I like the challenge and have already learned a great deal in the few months I have been working here.

Dr. Weil shares my mind set for plants. He spends a lot of time in the garden despite the demands of his very busy schedule. He is an accomplished vegetable gardener and is also great with bulbs. While potting bulbs, harvesting beets or seeding lettuce, we talk about interesting discoveries and discuss new methods of organic gardening. I feel very privileged to work with him.

I think it is likely that many will turn to vegetable gardening out of necessity in the current economic downturn - but that, in the process, they will discover a love for plants and gardening that goes far beyond financial pragmatism. So my goal in these pages is to connect people with their gardens. There is no such thing as a "black thumb." Armed with the right information and dedication, you can succeed in growing a vast array of plants no matter where you live or how much space you have, even if it is only an apartment balcony with room for a few pots. There is no better time to connect with nature than now.

By Jared R. McKinley, Guest Commentator
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