It was a pleasant evening. The sun slowly set at its usual gentle pace, and my husband, the baby, and I sat gently swaying on our porch swing as dusk settled around us. With a sudden shocking crash, we found ourselves on the porch floor, the frayed ropes of the swing dangling limply above us. We sat on the porch in stunned silence for a moment, then picked ourselves up and looked at our swing. Years of weathering as well as the sharp little teeth of a new puppy had weakened those ropes, and all of them had ripped at once. Not only were the ropes worn, but the seat itself was cheaply built, and a slat was missing. We decided it would not be a good idea to hang it with fresh ropes, and stowed the seat away in the garden shed. Perhaps it would come in handy for some future project. Little did I know that the broken swing seat would become one of my favorite garden features ever.
A design for a cutting garden nestled up against a garage caught my eye as I perused the latest issue of a garden magazine one day. I wondered where I could create a flower bed like this one as I studied the design and plants the designer had chosen. This design was a curving triangular shape with its long backside against a garage, a shorter side defined by a walk or other feature, and the final longest side a gently curving garden edge. A narrow path cut through the bed and past a bench tucked among tall cosmos and dahlias, zinnias, bachelor’s buttons, and other flowers especially suited for cutting.
I wondered where I could craft a garden space like this, and suddenly concluded that the vegetable garden was the perfect place. One cold April day, my sons and I grabbed pitchforks, cardboard, and a wheelbarrow and headed out to the garden to mark off a corner for flowers, herbs, and novelty plants. We determined the center of the garden, and from there marked off a curving triangular section in the northeast corner. We laid cardboard in a curved path from the center to the edge of the garden and mulched it with wood chips. From there we marked another shorter path dividing the triangle into two sections.
We needed a bench along the shorter path. The old porch swing taking too much space in the garden shed would be the perfect thing. We dragged it out to the garden, placed it on two cinder blocks to make a low bench, and sat on it for a rest. Heaving around loads of wood chips to build garden paths makes one tired.
As spring grew warmer and the daylight lengthened, I puttered around that garden space mingling herbs and flowers. Early lettuces were marched along one side of the path and parsleys on the other. As spring stretched into summer, we ate the lettuces, and the flowers planted behind took over.
I filled the beds around the bench with flowers. Behind the bench, canna lilies and sunflowers towered, giving a sheltered, secluded feel. Eucalyptus and feverfew grew on one side of the bench. On the other side I neglected to pull a grassy weed, and it grew lush, full, and beautiful in its own way. I sowed seeds of zinnias, marigolds, and calendula in the bed between the paths. They sprouted, grew, and flung their blossoms out in lavish pops of color.
Perhaps it could feel counterintuitive to create a place of rest in a corner of the vegetable garden. Surely time spent in the garden should be devoted to weeding; to harvesting; to frantically trenching in the next succession of sweet corn, zucchini, green beans; or to nervously monitoring pests and diseases.
My bench taught me that a garden is not only a place to work, but also a place to enjoy. On warm sunny mornings as I weeded and planted, my children too small to help played on the bench, their little fingers gently shredding fluffy zinnias. They were safe, happy, and content. In the long summer evenings, I puttered in the garden, tending vegetables or pulling weeds. Then, as the sun slowly sank, I sat on my bench and watched the garden and waited for my family to come home for evening prayers and bed. Summer insects droned in the background, and deep green plants stretched upward, refreshing themselves in the cooling air. Often a child joined me, and we sat in cozy companionship or quiet conversation. I always left the garden refreshed, happy, peaceful.
Winter came and we tilled the garden and once again stowed the ‘ole broken swing in the garden shed to wait out the cold weather. The next spring we designed a new garden and propped my bench on cinder blocks along a new path. Year follows year, and the swing-turned-garden-bench weathers a little grayer and weakens a little more. Eventually it will be cast aside, leaving us with fond memories and an important life lesson. Sometimes experiences that bring one crashing to the ground are redeemed by becoming the inspiration for a new venture, the journey to a stronger character, or just a quiet place to rest.