The Gardening Tools That Shape My Days in the Garden
Introduction - The Quiet Companions in My Garden
Every morning in Soshanguve, before the taxis start hooting on the main road and before the sun begins its usual mission of turning the soil warm and stubborn, I step into my little garden with a soft, familiar excitement. The air is still cool. The birds have already woken up and are roaming the yard as if they are seeing for themselves that I have arrived. And as usual, my gardening tools are in the exact place where I left them, standing quietly as if they are already aware of what the day requires from me.
It took me years to understand the relationship between a gardener and their tools. When I first started planting, I didn't have anything proper. I was using whatever was available in the house. A spoon at times, a broken plastic container at times, and sometimes just my bare hands. I chuckle when I recall those days but I am also thankful because they made me realize that gardening is not about having tools, it is about having a loving heart. Tools only make the journey comfortable, more fun, and much more gratifying.
At present, the tools that are lying in the corner of my yard don't appear as mere things to me. I see little helpers that have shaped every leaf, every seed, every harvest I've enjoyed. I see pieces of my growth.
My Hand Rake - The Little Tool With Big Strength
On some mornings, the first tool I reach for is my hand rake. It may be tiny and just about delicate looking, however, this three-tiered metal companion has been a total game changer in how I make my beds. I can still recall the first time I put it to use on my tomato bed; the earth was hard, hot rays of the sun had been baking it for the last several days, and I was so sure that the rake wouldn't even make it through the first row.
But the very instant I forced it down into the earth, I felt it move in as if it knew the land more than I did. Every pull loosened the earth, breaking through the hard dry part and making space for air to go in. Soil breathing is something I have always told and now this tiny rake has become the ideal instrument for reviving it softly.
Quite frequently, while I am separating the upper layer, I become so involved with the rhythmic noise it produces that I don't realize it. It has a sort of calming effect on me which I am not able to explain. It brings back the idea that gardening is not just a tiring job, rather it is a healing session. Every movement of the hand is like running it through the earth's hair, getting it ready for another day of growth. So, every time I see the soil adhering to the ends of the rake, I take it as a reason to be cheerful as it indicates that I am doing the slow work which is absolutely necessary and my plants have to depend on me for it.
The Garden Trowel - My Partner in Planting
If gardening had wedding vows, my trowel would be the tool I'd promise to hold forever. It has been with me through every season - from planting tiny lettuce seeds in winter to burying stubborn cabbage seedlings during summer heat.
I remember the morning captured in the image above. The sun was just up, and the soil was a bit chilly. I was busy with the cabbage plantation, and the earth was definitely not cooperating. Trying to mend my hands with a pair of gloves, I still felt the defiance of the soil. However, the digger went further and further until the ideal little bed for the cabbage was made. There are times when the earth struggles against you before it accepts you. I have learned to honor that.
There's something special about the moment when you place a seedling inside a freshly dug hole. It's like lowering a baby into a warm blanket. You want the depth just right. You want the roots to sit comfortably. You want the soil to hug it gently. And you want to believe, deep down, that what you planted will rise into something beautiful.
My trowel makes all that possible. It has been the vehicle for my garden to carry soil, compost, manure, mulch, and basically anything that my garden needs to stay alive. I still cannot think of getting a new one even if it is dirty, scratched, or has rust on the edges. Not after all that we have created together.
The Hose - My Lifeline in the Soshanguve Heat
There's a softness that settles over the garden when water touches the soil. Even on days when the sun feels unforgiving and the heat makes the leaves curl, the moment water flows, everything comes alive again. And my hose has become the lifeline for every plant I grow here in Soshanguve.
In the picture above, I was giving my tomatoes a drink of water. I had just weeded, and the earth looked really dry. After I turned on the water and saw the hose getting wet between my hands, I thought it was the plants that were almost breathing out in relief.
For me, watering is not only a duty - it is a ceremony. I get a certain calm which is like a freshener coming from the water which I see goes into the earth making it wet and giving the life from above to the roots.
Occasionally, I am strolling down the lines at a slow pace, assuring that every plant is getting adequate.
There are times, when I am sitting on the side of the bed, letting the water flow and I watch every single detail - the colour of the leaves, the new growth shape, the manner in which the stems are leaning towards the light.
With me, the hose has been everywhere in the yard. It has kinked, tangled, leaked unexpectedly, and tested my patience more than once. But every good tool has its mood swings, and I've learned to work with them.
In our climate, water isn't just part of gardening - it's the difference between a thriving garden and a dying one. And that's why my hose isn't just a tool. It's a lifeline.
Small Tools, Big Impact - Little Helpers I Can't Garden Without
There are days when I don't need the big tools. I really don't need that much big stuff - the scissors that I use to cut off dead leaves, the gloves that keep my hands safe from scratches, the small hand fork that loosens stubborn soil clumps, and also the old watering can that I use for delicate seedlings that aren't able to take strong water pressure.
Very often, it is the smallest tools that have the biggest impact. I have come to the point of understanding that gardening is not a matter of power; it is a matter of love. It is about handling the earth softly. It's about noticing the tiny changes. It's about learning to slow down.
These smaller tools often remind me that even a quick, simple action can help a plant survive another day. And that teaches me a lot about life too.
What My Tools Teach Me Every Day
When I see my tools arranged next to the garden bed, I don't just see metal and plastic. I see patience. I see growth. I see discipline. I see that part of me that keeps stubbornly going through long days, changing weather, and times of doubt.
All the scratches on the trowel, the bends in the hand rake, and the dust-covered handles are the signs of a gardener who keeps coming back. A gardener who has made it his/her habit to find joy in the slow victories - a new leaf, a strong root, a small harvest.
My tools are like a daily mental diet of the harsh truth that things don't just grow and become beautiful in one night. They drill the truth that time and effort that is not spared will eventually turn into something tangible, something that you can taste, and of which you can be proud. Most importantly though, they tell me that life is very similar to gardening - you make the soil ready, put in the seed, water it, take care of it, and wait.
Sometimes it grows.
Sometimes it doesn't.
But you keep planting anyway.
Conclusion - The Garden Grows Me Too
Every morning I head to my garden, grab my tools and I feel grounded. I feel a strong connection to myself and the nature that surrounds me. These devices have been with me through my rage, my joy, and my victories. They have been the means through which I have made the earth and my willpower yield something beautiful.
It is true that I started gardening literally with my bare hands, but I think it is fair to say that these tools have made me the kind of gardener I am now. They have been my teachers in the life lesson that taking care of plants is in fact, taking care of oneself - learning patience, accepting the process, and being there even on days when you don't feel like it.
Whenever I get down to work next to a plant with my digging fork, my spade, or my watering can, I can't help but remember that growth - real growth - cannot be rushed. It is, however, always the case that it shall be returned to those who don't stop caring for, have faith in, and love the earth that they live on.
