“It may be that when we no longer know what to do, we have come to our real work, and when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey. " -Wendell Berry

Hello Everyone.

At the end of winter, and before garden season started, I learned to knit. It is a skill that I have thought about starting for many years, yet could never make the time. Knitting takes time, but so does everything else, and making time for activities that give us pleasure, slow us down, and offer a moment for quiet reflection is a good thing. I’ve been in a hurry to get things done, but during those few weeks, I could appreciate the value of sitting quietly, moving my hands to create something beautiful while sitting in one place.

Now that I am a knitter, I wish I had learned to knit sooner. I enjoy the repetition of the circular needles and following a pattern, watching my cashmere scarf grow longer with each turn. Yet, it is also the idea that I can pull out all the yarn and start over if I am not satisfied with the quality of my work. Which, as a beginner, has been pulled out several times. There aren’t many other things in life that allow you to change your mind so easily.

This is how knitting and gardening are similar: Start at the beginning and then move forward, understanding that it is about the process as much as the product. Every decision you make is based on experience, what you have learned from the previous go-around, and the vision you have created. The best part is knowing that there is no concern for what others think; you are simply creating something from nothing.

My good friend Deb taught herself how to knit. She watched videos, attended classes, listened to podcasts, and kept at it, and now she wears the most beautiful one-of-a-kind sweaters, hats, and scarves.  Knitting for Deb takes the place of meditation, an hour in the morning and sometimes during the day, listening to a book on tape or simply listening to her thoughts. So when I asked her to teach me, I noticed a bit of hesitation before she said “yes”. Although I didn’t question her response, I suspect it was because she thought she might not be a good teacher.

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It took us a week to settle on a time to start lesson one: casting on. Getting this part right is key because it sets the foundation for the rest of the garment. She showed me how to do it and then watched intently as I attempted to hold the needles and weave the tiny strand of slippery yarn up, over, and across to the other needle. She is sharing something she loves and passing it along to me, and breaking down the steps into smaller pieces, requiring her to go back to a beginner's mind.

After several attempts, she showed it again and returned it to me to knit the second row. I was starting with a simple pattern: knit five and purl one. Yet somehow, a stitch was lost, and the design began to look lumpy instead of like the photo. She suggested we pull it apart and start over. I agreed. The yarn pulled out too easily, kinked like removing long hair from a braid. Rolling it into a manageable ball, I started again.

So far, I like knitting, although it will be a long way to go before I am good at it. As I knit, counting the knits and the purls like a chant, then study the rows to see if I’ve missed a stitch, I can’t help but think back to when I first learned to garden and how little I knew about how to begin. I had no one to show me how to remove the turf grass, turn over the soil, remove the stones, and spread compost.

I wondered why anyone found this activity called gardening to be a reasonable thing to do with their time. Back then, I would rather be doing anything but gardening. And what changed? It involved a shift in my attitude. My senses opened to the smell of soil, the touch of green leaves, and the taste of everything. I began to eat dinner standing up, grazing in the pea patch.

When my attitude shifted, everything changed. Then I noticed that when I took my muddy boots off at the door, I was already anticipating another glorious afternoon of playing in the dirt. It was a form of puttering that made me feel like a kid again; no judgment, only a sense of being in the moment.

The late artist Robert Dash once said, “ A garden is a form of autobiography.”  A garden is where the magic begins, and learning follows. We may never grow up as long as we have a garden.

Someday, I want to be one of those talented knitters who can talk, listen, and follow a pattern simultaneously as knit and purl, and make things for other people. But for now, knitting time is full of concentration and silence.  I am simply taking time to get into the flow. Learning to do something new is never easy, but it is often worthwhile. And if you have a good teacher, so much the better.

While knitting gives me yet one more thing to do in a day and one more project that may remain unfinished, it teaches me to slow down and reflect on what matters. Push a seed in the ground; let it sprout, then watch and wait while the plant grows. In life, we are told it’s the journey, not the destination, and the same is true for planting a garden.

Sending you a little magic for your garden.

Ellen Ecker Ogden

Welcome to The Art of Growing Food. In this newsletter, you will discover artful ways to plant a food garden. The designs in my books are based on the European potager; small, intimate sanctuaries for cooks who love to garden. You can follow my Vermont garden on Instagram or the website.