Tending the Inner Garden
by Melissa Scouten
My mom had a humongous vegetable garden. It fed our family for decades, providing rows of potatoes, raspberries pushing at their boundaries, jars of pickles lining the shelves, pies cooling on the counter, perogies in the freezer. It was productive, generous, and impressive.
It was also a lot of work.
From soil preparation to preserving, the garden moved with the rhythm of the seasons and a long list of tasks. There were weeds to stay ahead of, tomatoes that somehow all ripened at once and harvests that could not wait.
Looking back, I wonder what restorative moments the garden may have quietly offered along the way; the warmth of soil on bare feet in early June, corn stalks shifting in the wind while hilling potatoes, the satisfaction of pulling quack grass from the raspberry patch.
These reflections shape my curiosity about how gardening supports wellbeing, not only through
what we grow, but through how we experience being in it.
There is strong evidence that time in nature supports mental health. Just as important is how we are present when we are in nature.
When gardening becomes rushed, pressured, or focused only on outcomes, it can leave us more depleted than restored. Yet the restorative moments are often small: pausing to feel soil in your hands, smelling tomato leaves, or harvesting slowly instead of in a hurry.
Watering seedlings.
Over time, the garden can shift from a place of enjoyment to a place of expectation. What begins with excitement becomes pressure to keep up, get it right, or stay productive. But what if the invitation is not to do more, but to be in the garden differently? As a new season begins, there is an opportunity not just to grow plants, but to shift how we relate to being outdoors.
The Key: Attention, Enjoyment, Curiosity, Connection
It is often joked that “Gardening is cheaper than therapy… and you get tomatoes.” There is truth in that, but the therapeutic benefits are not automatic.
When we are immersed in sensory activities like digging, planting, and watering, our minds begin to quiet. Thoughts about yesterday and tomorrow soften, and we become more present. What we attend to matters. If we focus only on outcomes – perfect tomatoes or weed-free beds, we can miss what is already restorative. We become preoccupied with what we want and overlook what we need.
Starting out aiming for perfectly straight seeded rows, until the carrots remind us that gardening and nature don’t need straightening.
Often, what we need is already here. Do a little check in with yourself and ask what do I need more or less of right now?
Tending the Inner Garden
Gardens invite reflection. What in our lives needs weeding-out? What needs watering and care? Where might we hold fewer expectations?
These reflections do not require extra time. They appear naturally when we slow down and pay attention. Even simple tasks can become grounding: mixing soil and noticing its texture, a soft gaze tracing a leaf margin, or hydrating potting mix with warm water and feeling the shift in consistency.
When we slow down enough to notice, ordinary tasks become restorative.
Soft fascination in action, wild rose in bloom.
The Practice of a “Sit Spot”
One simple way to experience the garden differently is through a sit spot. A sit spot is a place you return to regularly like a bench, chair, balcony, or patch of ground. You sit, be still, and notice.
Over time, you begin to see subtle changes: shifting light, plant growth, weather patterns, birds moving through space. The garden becomes less of a task list and more of an unfolding experience.
Getting low to admire the tiny unexpected beauty of wild ginger flowers.
If sitting still is not appealing, wandering works too. Notice movement, scent, texture, or sound. These details shift attention from maintenance to experience.
Gardening for Wildlife and Wonder
Pollinator gardens are increasingly popular. I once thought I could not contribute much after moving to a mostly shady yard that did not seem very butterfly-friendly. But gardening for all living things feels more possible, and more inclusive. Supporting wildlife can be simple: choose native plants suited to your space, leave some leaf litter, and allow parts of the garden to be a little less tidy.
Nature showing up with a gift of presence, a leafcutter bee at work.
One spring morning in my backyard, the ground seemed to move like a small earthquake. Dozens of White-throated Sparrows were scratching through leaves, searching for insects. What looks like mess becomes a wonder, and a reminder that the garden is not only ours.
For families, gardens can be a place for growing together. Activities like nature journalling encourage curiosity over completion. Children and adults can draw, write, question and observe seasonal changes or wildlife activity. It deepens connection to both place and self.
Nature journalling in the veggie garden, proof that slowing down is always a good choice.
Chores will always exist, but our gardens become richer when we shift from tasks to shared experiences.
Themed Food Gardens
In my home, teenage boredom often leads to baking. Suddenly the kitchen is covered in flour, measuring spoons disappear, and ingredients we definitely do not have become essential. It is chaotic, but wonderful.
This has shaped what we grow: strawberries for desserts, herbs for spreads, violets for topping, plants that can become part of spontaneous creativity.
Alpine strawberries we grew from seed. Small plants, big excitement.
Gardening, like baking, draws us into the senses. And sometimes boredom turns into something unexpectedly sweet.
A Different Kind of Harvest
There will always be tasks, gardens require care. But how we “show up” can shift.
Pathways are less work too, breaking up big beds, cutting down maintenance, and making more space to wander, notice, and just be in the garden.
We can still grow food and tend our spaces while making room for curiosity, attention, and enjoyment. Over time, my own gardening has softened. I once preferred carefully controlled beds and perfect placement. Learning more about Indigenous ways of seeing the world helped me move from controlling nature to participating in it. My garden became looser, more textured, and more alive.
The most meaningful harvest may not be the tomatoes, flowers, or preserved jars. It may be the quiet moments we did not rush past, the connection to earth, to others, and to
ourselves.
This season, the invitation is simple: to be outdoors – not just to grow a garden, but to let the garden grow something in us.
All photos credit Melissa Scouten.