For those who’ve asked, garden pictures! Note my helpers, a small child and a cat. And Gardenia, the Gardening Bear*. (Not pictured: the two nice gentlemen who rototilled the garden plot with a tractor and the husband who brought me bales of straw and the older child who helped spread straw and plant marigolds) The pot of petunias next to the swim shoes I’m wearing in the garden (because it’s wet in there in the mornings, that’s why) came from a neighbor. Came out one day and found petunia starters saying “pot us”. We have awesome neighbors.

The garden process is much like the process of writing a book. The idea, it’s so entrancing! Imagine the fresh fruit and vegetables! (And if you have never had fresh-picked peas, really, you don’t even know what to imagine.) Choosing and ordering organic seeds and heritage strains to try out, wondering what they’ll taste like. Considering the structural requirements, laying out a plot, getting it tilled and mulching. The little starter seeds in their tiny pots, so manageable. You can carry the whole baby garden in your hands.

And then it goes to the next stage. Bales of straw everywhere. Stakes and netting and tools. Tomato cages. Stringing the rows, spacing everything out, drawing and redrawing plans to make sure there’s enough room. Planting and mulching starters and after days of work, seeing how much is left to do and feeling hopeless.

It was such a good idea, but it grew and got out of hand. It can’t be picked up and carried around anymore, it’s too big. It has a life of its own. There’s so much work left to do after days of labor and it’s overwhelming. It will never be done, never.

You keep throwing yourself at it, getting the hoe and turning earth and laying down straw and planting seeds, carefully spaced and with a label. And then, suddenly, it is really truly almost done. The peas are planted in twin rows next to two barrels of potatoes (which are full of green leaves and flourishing), and there’s netting between two stakes for them to climb. The beans have their staked net to climb, too. Carrots and radishes are planted in neat rows, and broccoli is germinating and pepper plants are thriving in the heat while the squash looks wilty. Berries are ripening, and before long the zucchini will appear and I will have to sneak it onto my neighbor’s decks in the dark of night to get rid of the excess.

Just like that, it’s a garden. Just like that, it’s a book. When the mess of assembling all the various parts is strewn around and some things are growing faster than you can get them into the ground, it’s frantic and enormous and complicated. And then it isn’t. Then it’s a series of neat orderly rows, all growing as designed, leading to early harvests of berries and radishes and rhubarb. Or it’s a neat series of scenes building on each other as designed, leading to the inevitable conclusion.

The trick to both is to not give up in the middle stage. Just keep picking up the tools and throwing yourself at it.

*If you want your own gardening bear, visit the Vermont Teddy Bear Factory. All bears handmade and guaranteed for life, shipped in boxes with airholes so the bears can breathe until you unpack them.