My Swiss Chard Spinach Story – A Season of Setbacks, Surprises, and Comebacks
I did not intend for that spinach to take me through one of the most emotional experiences that I have personally lived through within the confines of my garden this year. The truth is that I needed a season that would go smoothly and with a certain level of calmness and not much drama. That is exactly what spinach is smooth and not much drama.
"But this batch had its own personality."
Bioware continues
What began with a small tray of hopeful seedlings gradually expanded into a story that was replete with early promise, thwarting setbacks, hot sun, unexpected invaders, and ultimately a resurrection that seemed almost as if the garden itself were offering me a lesson. The way that plants are able to do that: draw you in, break your heart a little, and then return it to you in the best way possible.
I'll take you through each moment of the experience, but first, a quick outline of what you'll see in the rest of the blog post.
What to Expect in This Post
The start of growth of chard seedlings and the hope I derived from these early growths. Planting the young seedlings into the soil and establishing them with mulch. The shock of waking up and seeing the attacked foliage. The sorrow of seeing the growth of mildew on the plants. The shocking turnaround that brought the season back to life.
The Season Begins
I remember the day I put the first seeds of Swiss chard spinach into the soil. The soil was warm beneath my fingertips, and I remember the quiet satisfaction of understanding that I was embarking upon a good start. After experiencing the various "dramas" of the beetroot, cabbage, and even the grapes, I told myself, "This one will be easy."
Those seedlings soon became a ritual for me and every morning. I would check on them every day, and mysteriously, every day, they looked bigger, stronger, and more determined. Yet "growing" seedlings is one of the slowest and most exhilarating experiences because you see no action yet notice the change every day. I found myself thinking of the meals I could soon be preparing while they were not even exposed to outside soil yet.
Into the Ground They Go
As the seedlings were ready, I looked for the ideal place a spot of soil that received soft afternoon shade and did not dry out very quickly. I worked and turned the soil over, to loosened it, and put some compost around the holes where the mulch hugged the soil like a blanket.
Between the first two to three weeks the plants were very peaceful outdoors. The leaves opened wide, the stems got thicker, and it all looked very healthy. "Ah, finally… things are going right," I recall thinking.
I really believed that for a moment.
The Time the Leaves Were a Buffet
And then came the morning that hit like a blow to the gut.
I headed towards the spinach patch expecting new growth. What I saw instead were holes large and prominent holes within the spinach leaves. It seemed that the unwanted visitors got a midnight meal of spinach.
I looked under the leaves, lightly digging into the soil, and searching every nook and cranny. Perhaps I could spot a small caterpillar lurking between the veins. Other times, I could find nothing but a clean slate, and I'd be left puzzled and frustrated. Well, it's one thing to deal with the kind of bugs I could see, but the idea of battling bugs that I couldn't see? That's a different story altogether.
It's almost personal, you know? As if I've let the plants down. I've begun questioning every aspect of it, am I watering correctly? Is the mulch layer sufficient? Is the spacing good? Gardening somehow gets you overanalyzing even the smallest details.
The Mildew That Broke Me
Right when I started to get control back, the weather changed. The humidity level went up, the atmosphere turned dense, and I saw a soft white coating on a leaf. I touched it lightly and immediately felt a constriction in my chest.
Watching the mildew creep across the leaves broke my heart. It's a stealthy and rapid grower, and even if you are doing everything correctly, it sometimes gets the best of you a time or two. I recall standing there with a leaf, feeling as if the season were getting away from me. I really did consider ripping it all out and quitting.
But something within me refused to give up. I trimmed back the worst of the leaves, gave the plants a little extra room, and waited hoping that the dry air might return. Gardening is a way of cultivating the virtue of patience, even when that virtue might be stressing.
The Revival That Changed Everything
Then came a morning I'll never forget. I went to the patch thinking I would see disappointment, but what I saw were these bright, glossy new leaves pushing through. Strong. Smooth. Healthy. It was almost as if the plants were saying, "We're not done yet."
The growth has been slow, but each new leaf is a triumph. And even now, every time I harvest a leaf from a new growth cycle, I get the sense that I'm harvesting not only a product but a story with each leaf. And this spinach it's not just a crop. This spinach has become a reminder.
What This Swiss Chard Experience:
Has taught me that gardening is a very personal experience. Plants not only grow, but teach. They teach you to be patient, to be confident, and then reward you at unexpected times. Sometimes the time of year is full of holes, scars, and frustration, but if the roots are intact, a resurrection is definitely possible. And that's why this harvest of Swiss chard has definitely been one of the most significant events of the year in my garden.
