On hobbies, holidays and gardening leave: a Cup Day reflection by an amateur food grower
This reflection is dedicated to my friend Michelle Farrall, who recently asked those in her LinkedIn network to share about their hobbies, especially in light of research indicating that a key predictor of leadership ‘stickability’ (i.e. ability to remain in highly challenging roles, longer term) is regularly engaging in a hobby that involves losing track of time (a phenomenon that others might refer to as attaining a “flow state”).
In response to this prompt, I quickly and keenly suggested gardening, especially food growing, highlighting its deeply therapeutic benefits. It really is one of the least expensive forms of therapy! I also indicated that there was a LOT more that I wanted to say on this rather exciting and important topic. It turns out that I was indeed correct: I had at least four thousand more words to share on the matter!
The timing seems particularly right for this piece, with today being Melbourne Cup Day holiday here in Victoria. This long weekend also comes right on the back of Halloween. With the recent focus on festive pumpkins (such a very American tradition) I found myself musing that few local kids would likely have much awareness that they are seasonally out by six months when it comes to the pumpkin theme. The reality is that we are in entirely the wrong hemisphere for fresh pumpkins! Halloween, just like Easter’s theme of springtime new life, not to mention the strange idea of an icy and white Christmas, just doesn’t translate so well here Down Under. Additionally, for very keen Victorian gardeners, Cup Weekend is more marked as the traditional deadline for getting one’s tomato plants into the garden ready for summer than it is by an (increasingly contested and unpopular) horse race.
This long weekend, as I’ve spent ample time in my own flourishing garden, losing all track of time, I’ve been quietly nurturing a wonderful dream. My dream is that by 2030, Cup Weekend will be less about horses and gambling and drinking to excess while parading around in fine fashion and will instead be a collective celebration of our backyard veggie gardens! Imagine if on Cup Day afternoon, instead of watching the race, our neighbourhoods were dotted with small gatherings in our backyards, showing local friends what we’ve earnestly been preparing for the summer season ahead. At these gatherings we could also start hatching plans to swap surplus produce at around Christmas time, perhaps even in the form of a summer harvest festival. Just imagine!
But there are other reasons that this reflection seems particularly timely and relevant to me. Some of the other catalysts and framings, that imbue my ongoing contemplations, are as follows:
An article from the Guardian back in 2022, telling the story of civil servants in Sri Lanka who were given Fridays off work in order to grow food “in a bid to forestall a looming food shortage”. This paints a picture of a rather fascinating intersection of work, home and civic life, along with being a striking example of the increasingly urgent need to innovate when it comes to meeting some of our most basic human needs, whether in light of cost of living challenges or our climate crisis (which are ultimately inseparable issues). I currently work in a role with a 0.8 time fraction: while I don’t get a day off, I get early finishes each day, allowing me to spend time in the garden before dark, even in the very depths of winter. I am aware that this is a fairly unique privilege, and one that I take full advantage of when I can.
Another article from the Guardian, from April this year, expressed concern that Aussies are eating less fruit and vegetables, particularly as our cost of living crisis bites and we seek to cut costs as households. As much as I don’t doubt the veracity of these particular ABS statistics, I confess that as I read this article I quietly hoped that what was missing from scanner data from major supermarkets was the increasing number of people experimenting with growing some of their own food. Could this trend possibly have skewed the data to such an extent that it led to some erroneous conclusions, especially in the aftermath of COVID lockdowns and the mini-resurgence of backyard farming (alongside sourdough bread-making)? Call me idealistic, but I can at least vouch for the truth of this, in my own case: I very likely spent hundreds of dollars less on retail groceries last summer, simply by growing my own.
As wars endlessly ravage people, communities and ecosystems in various parts of the world, and as photos of car-laden-post-flood streets in Valencia (Spain) plus the latest ominous climate science updates fill my various newsfeeds, I am reminded of the need to invest in localised expressions of food resilience. As highlighted in this recent article, “Spain provides about 32% of the UK’s fruit and veg imports, including tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, lettuces, broccoli and citrus fruit. Most of this produce is grown in Almeria’s 40,000ha of greenhouses, many of which will have been wiped out.” The Victory Gardens that became a feature of suburban life in Australia during World Word II immediately come to mind. More than eight decades ago, impending food shortages meant that backyard agriculture was increasingly a feature of the Aussie war effort. Under the rallying cry of “Dig for Victory”, home gardens were not just about growing food but also a way of raising funds and boosting morale. There are myriad lessons for us around solidarity and resiliency as we suffer the unfolding consequences of our global climate emergency. We can learn to do without designer shoes, handbags and fascinators, but we will not survive long without food. We either choose change, or have it (inconveniently) forced upon us.
As I attempted to articulate in A Climate of Hope: Church and Mission in a Warming World (co-authored with Dr Mick Pope in 2014), part of the perversity of our reliance upon GDP as a measure of national progress is that while growing our own food forms part of a movement towards expanding and enhancing the common good, it is rather ironically an economically ‘bad’ idea within our present neoliberal system. It’s better for our economy, in raw numerical terms, that one burns down one’s own home (stimulating business for the construction and insurance sectors) than choosing to plunge one’s hands into the earth in an attempt to grow some food, in doing so learning about life’s everyday miracles happening all around us, and being better for it in so many ways. Growing our own - rather than relying on large supermarket chains for our food - actually causes a negative economic impact if the sole measure is GDP. We become happier and healthier, while our ‘economy’ apparently suffers. For those of us who know, deep in our bones, that business as usual is no longer serving us well (if it ever really did), food growing can feel subversively good, so much so that one could liken it to joining a resistance movement!
While I am reluctant to target one particular recreational pastime or hobby, I will be the first to admit that jet-skis make a wonderfully easy target. As I highlighted in this article written for Ethos, on a more fragile day diesel-guzzling jet-skis really can make me cry. It’s not just the entirely unnecessary fossil fuel emissions that will only serve to amplify the impacts of climate change, it’s the air and noise pollution, and the need for extra-long car parks to host super-sized petrol-powered vehicles with big trailers, and the fact that too often the only joy that ripples out from these recreational machines is for the one or two riders themselves. The reality is that the net community benefit of this hobby is well below zero. In our increasingly fragile and globalised world, we are becoming acutely aware that very few things are genuinely neutral in terms of their impact on people and planet, especially when we courageously turn our gaze to those who live downstream from us, in space and time. For those of us who choose to be mindfully informed regarding pressing issues of inequality and injustice, we desperately need for our hobbies to bring more than just a flow-state: they need to be genuinely redemptive, regenerative and healing. Anything less will only add to our gnawing sense of anxiety and our deepening existential exhaustion. There has to be a better way forward than to distract ourselves with hobbies that in reality only serve to deepen our personal and collective sense of crisis.
On a more personal note, the end of my single term on Council has led a number of constituents to ask me what it is that I now plan to do with all of my ‘spare time’. What far fewer people are aware of is that I spent a fair few days grieving when I got elected in 2020. While it was a delightful surprise and genuine privilege to become one of three councillors for South Ward (despite my incredibly low-key campaign), as an introvert I felt acutely a genuine loss of the right to maintain a quiet and private life. There would be contentious issues, hundreds of evening briefings, excruciatingly long sets of agendas papers, and never ending points of contact from a variety of angst-ridden community members. I sent almost eight thousand emails, over my four year term! Don’t get me wrong: there were wonderfully rich moments too, particularly the chance to deepen my connections with our diverse and committed community. Yet all of these things involved sacrificing time previously spent walking in nature, relaxing with family and friends, reading books, and pottering in the garden - all important places of deep contentment and joy for me. I don’t regret my time serving on council, but didn’t feel that I had what I needed in my tank to do it all again. The honest truth is that I need to return to the quiet stillness of my backyard, for nourishment and rejuvenation!
This coming Thursday I’ll facilitate the final of five monthly online book club sessions where a dozen or so of us have been patiently and reflectively working our way through Robin Wall-Kimmerer’s marvellous book Braiding Sweetgrass. The beautiful refrains woven through this book draw our attention to the wonderful gifts of nature, that provide for our nourishment and wellbeing, and the fundamentally reciprocal nature of our relationship with the more-than-human world. We nurture nature; nature nurtures us. Materialistic individualism has hidden from our view the deep truth that we really do need one another. Ultimately we humans do not exist as beings who are fundamentally separate from nature: we instead form an integral part of the intricate and amazing and complex and vulnerable web of all living beings.
So, in light of that incredibly long preface, here is an even longer list a few dozen reasons that I heartily believe we should all invest our attention in slowly mastering the art of backyard (or balcony) food growing:
The health benefits associated with fewer chemical inputs (what I like to call uncertified organic)
Fewer ‘food miles’, equating to both reduced transport emissions and much fresher produce
Home grown food generally tastes heaps better, in part because we can opt to harvest at peak ripeness, as well as it being intrinsically rewarding to eat what you we grown ourselves
Over time we may become more creative in our kitchens, finding new ways to cook with (or preserve) seasonal fruit and vegetables
There are microbes in soil that are good for our mental health, including enhanced serotonin production, meaning we might literally feel happier and less stressed
Gardening gets us outdoors and into the fresh air, re-connecting us to soil, earth, land
We can boost our natural intake of Vitamin D, while also being sun-smart (of course)
We can learn about the medical benefits of plants, beyond seeing them just as food (I’ve used a nasturtium paste to heal a small burn before - among other things it is a natural disinfectant)!
For those of us who otherwise live rather sedentary lives, time working the land gets us active, and sometimes finds us using muscles we’d forgotten we even had
For those of us who don’t feel particular creative, or who lack outlets for creative expression in the rest of our lives, in our gardens we get to create with plants, establishing a safe-haven of beauty that is deeply good for us at a purely aesthetic level
We learn to hold a nurturing stance, being more mindful and attentive, considering how to care for the living things around us, noting also the detrimental impact of unintentional neglect
We learn about reciprocity: we tend and care, and harvest bountiful crops in return
We learn about the cycle of life, and the importance of pollinators and the wonderful work of bees and worms
We learn about thorns and thistles, and various backyard ‘pests’ (slugs, snails, birds, possums) and in doing so become more aware of the challenges faced by those working in the agricultural sector, which in turn helps us grow deepening respect for our farmers, as well as being frequently reminded that we share our local habitat with other precious creatures
We learn to better attend to seasons and cycles, and how crucial it can be to get the timing right (seeds are AMAZING, by the way, in terms of their innate knowledge of when to break forth from the soil, simply bursting with the possibility of new life)
We also learn more about which foods are in-season in our bioregion, which can in turn impact how we shop for food and what we choose to eat throughout the year
We learn about our climate, and how vulnerable our food systems are to both structural shifts and a tendency toward new extremes, unlike our increasingly ‘climate-controlled’ artificial indoor environments (on a small positive note, more people are now successfully growing bananas in suburban Melbourne!)
We also learn about weather, and notice more keenly when it is super hot, super dry, super windy or super wet (as Dr Mick Pope likes to say, “climate is what we expect, and weather is what we get”). A few years ago my entire corn crop was wiped out by savage winds. I was sad, but it was nothing like the utter devastation our that farmer’s too often face when millions of dollars worth of precious crops are lost to pests, disease or disaster
We practise patience, which is a particularly important trait in our culture of immediate results and instant gratification: as a renter it is very likely that someone else will benefit from the avocado tree that I am nurturing, several years down the track
For those of us nurtured in the perpetual pursuit of efficiency, we might even learn to slow down and take delight in ‘time-consuming’ daily rituals like watering, weeding and harvesting. A memorable highlight of last summer was my daybreak wander around my garden with my morning coffee: the ritual would end with me turning off the hose, putting down my mug, and picking fresh berries (on many occasions these berries were my breakfast, a delicious and indulgent source of sheer delight)
For those of us who face seasons or lifestyles characterised by particularly full schedules, gardening does present opportunity for multi-tasking: for many years podcasts have been my gardening companion, and more recently audiobooks
Interestingly, research has demonstrated that our memories are geographically anchored, meaning that we can generally recall where we were when a certain conversation took place or even where a certain train of thought occurred (it is for this same reason that many of us felt foggy-brained during COVID: so many of our thoughts and conversations happened in front of the very same laptop screen, all day, every day)! It’s my fifth year living in this home, and my garden is now full of memories of my own making, with certain plants or garden beds associated with seasons of my life when I was deep in thoughtful reflection about a person or issue, or engaged in deep learning (by way of a podcast or audiobook). I also have COVID-lockdown memories of my son asking whether I might just need to water the garden: this was his simple, beautiful bid for human connection when he desired company outdoors while jumping on the trampoline
In our gardens we learn gratitude, for sometimes the smallest little things, such as a funny-looking stick insect that takes up residence in our raspberry patch, or a tiny bud bursting forth as a sign of life and fruitfulness, or a buzzing bee doing its pollination rounds
We are able to exercise generosity-of-heart when we reap an abundant harvest, taking delight in the opportunity to share fresh produce with friends, family and neighbours. For people who have everything they need, and perhaps even everything they want, home-grown fresh food can be one of the best, most personal, most ultimately useful gifts that a person could ever receive
We also learn to savour our food, eating slowly and mindfully, with deep awareness of the effort it took to nurture these sources of nourishment into being. The first-fruits of any crop are always particularly special to me (and I can appreciate why some ancient religious traditions instructed people to take these as offerings to their priests, as a sign of humble gratitude)
I’m no prepper, but with each growing season I learn more about self-sufficiency and resilience, and am confronted by how fundamentally unprepared we are to live off the land in ways that were once natural and normal for our ancestors. There is of course much that we can learn from the traditional custodians of the lands upon which we live
Through our increasingly enthusiastic modelling of basic agricultural practices, we might just inspire some who represent younger generations, which in turn might help us resolve critical skills shortages within the food & fibres industries. Failing this, we might at least reinforce to the next generation that food ultimately comes to us as a gift from a cared-for earth, not as a result of transactions at the supermarket!
Following along intergenerational lines, we may find that opportunities open themselves up for us to sit at the feet of older generations, learning from their immense gardening wisdom (something they’d likely deeply delight in, in terms of being able to share something of significant value, while feeling seen and heard and appreciated)
Through reflecting on the life-cycles of plants and the ways of nature we can learn rich new lessons everyday. The world of design is increasingly leaning toward biomimicry, which is to imitate that which is living (as opposed to the mechanistic and materialistic framing offered by modernity): when we open our eyes, the natural world is replete with timeless metaphor and deep wisdom
This healthy-and-happy hobby can quickly become cost-neutral (once the basic set-up phase is complete) and if you’re a keen gardener with sufficient space you could even end up being financially ahead, whether through reduced grocery bills or through selling/trading any surplus produce
As well as being fairly affordable, over the longer term, this ‘hobby’ is also geographically accessible: gardening at home removes many of the usual travel-related barriers. Those stuck at home due to caring responsibilities, a lack of viable transport options, or other life challenges don’t face some of the usual barriers to participation
The sense of pride and achievement in response to one’s own gardening efforts should not be underestimated (especially during seasons when the rest of one’s life seems wildly out of control, or feels like a collapsing house of cards)
I would dare to suggest that this hobby is morally unambiguous: it is good on so many levels (way more virtue than vice) and not something one will likely lose sleep over in terms of caring a troubled conscience
There are incalculable spin-off benefits, as one continues on the learning journey, season after season. As just one example, suddenly one’s own food waste isn’t waste at all: composting and worm warming become integral to the whole process, especially for those of us who struggle with depleted suburban soil. As another example, one quickly finds oneself reaching out to others within the broader community, for practical tips relevant to one’s own micro-climate and bio-region, or perhaps to engage in produce swapping or seed-sharing! Before you know it we realise that you’re feeling less alone, more connected, and a part of something wonderful that is bigger than ourselves.
In time we might also find ourselves reflecting more and more through a mindset of deep abundance: if there are two hundred seeds within a single tomato, and one plant can yield one hundred tomatoes, the latent potency of a single seed is just mind-bogglingly profound, if properly contemplated (somehow we’ve been raised to live with a sense of scarcity, when there is actually more than enough to meet people’s basic needs)!
I could go on, but I think you’ve likely got my point! Besides which, I am keen to wrap up this writing project so that I can get back out into the garden. But three final things:
Firstly, I want to acknowledge those who rent and those who live in apartments. I have been a renter for most of my adult life, and I confess that it can be really hard. Not having land that feels like it is yours to tend makes it harder to invest in establishing any kind of productive garden. You are not alone. The good news is that there is a heck of a lot you can do with pots and planters, on a veranda or patio or balcony, as well as new technology to enable very fruitful and aesthetically pleasing vertical gardening if you are fortunate to find that kind of space. There are also community gardens, where you can garden alongside others on a common plot, or even hire your own mini-plot for an affordable annual fee. In many cultures and places these shared spaces (and commons) have been normal and central to a community’s life for generations. Locally I think of places like the Downs Farm, adjacent to the Seaford Wetlands, which is not just a place for growing food but for learning and collaborating and building stronger community ties.
Secondly, I want to share an inspiring story of a dear friend and the budding circular economy at her inner-city workplace. Her frustration at the lack of resources for tackling food waste meant that she developed the habit of taking staff food waste home, yes even on the tram or train! This was turned into compost, or was fed to her backyard chickens. She would sometimes take eggs back to work, to share with colleagues. One colleague would share these eggs with his daughter, which became a key ingredient in her delicious baked goods, which would find their way back to the staff room at her father’s work. These are gifts that just keep giving: not just nutrition for our bodies, but connection for our hearts and hope for our spirits.
Thirdly, I want to emphasise the serious possibility that without the kinds of change in heart and mind and identity-orientation that I’ve hinted at in all that I have shared (toward nature, and toward one another, and toward gift and abundance and reciprocity), humanity looks to be genuinely imperilled. Many members of our scientific community, curious professionals who are trained to collect and analyse the data and to read the signs, are increasingly worn out and demoralised by their efforts to sound alarms, alarms we just refuse to hear as a society. Yes we need to engage in the political process. Yes we need to use our voices and our votes. Yes we need to divest from banks, superannuation funds and investment portfolios that implicate us in funding exploitation, extraction and destruction. Yes we may even need to protest, and keep protesting!
My deep sense, however, is that our response needs to be multifaceted: both/and, not either/or. These small personal acts of integrity help us build resilience and deepening awareness. They are expressions of the choice to live out of our core values, rather than in daily conflict with them. And perhaps as we slow down, spending time in our gardens (rather on screens), and as we better attune ourselves to nature, we will become more adept at listening to the cries of the earth AND the increasingly urgent cries of our scientists. In a world full of noise and of fake news, we connect to what is really real, right in front of us. We allow the soil of the earth to get close, even right under our fingernails!
And we may more keenly appreciate, with each new heatwave or fire or flood or storm event, that we really are running out of time. Yes: growing some of our own food pales in comparison to the scale of the issues that need to be confronted and the global systems that need to be dismantled as we live in and through this long climate emergency. Backyard gardening isn’t going to change anything overnight, and it will hardly shift the dial in terms of the prevailing neoliberal economic worldview that continues to grip the imaginations of the world’s powerful and elite, and the relentless systems that we seem to be stubbornly stuck within. But there’s a strong chance that it might just accelerate deeper changes in us, and as we learn to embrace an era of necessary adaptation that’s certainly where some of the hardest shifts are most urgently needed…
So, if you’re looking for a new hobby, please consider opting for one that helps and heals.
“Jonanna Macy writes that until we can grieve for our planet we cannot love it—
grieving is a sign of spiritual health.
But it is not enough to weep for our lost landscapes;
we have to put our hands in the earth to make ourselves whole again.
Even a wounded world is feeding us.
Even a wounded world holds us, giving us moments of wonder and joy.
I choose joy over despair.
Not because I have my head in the sand,
but because joy is what the earth gives me daily and I must return the gift.”
~ Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass (Penguin, 2013. p.327)
Claire Harvey is an Enneagram One (the Reformer) and a frustrated idealist. She is an ISTJ (in MBTI terms), and her Clifton Strengths are Learner, Input, Responsibility, Context and Intellection. Her neurodivergent traits likely include being in the ‘highly sensitive’ range, which would explain why she thinks a lot, about a lot of things, especially as they relate to ecology, vocation, how everything in the cosmos is ultimately connected (and accordingly ways in which we might collectively find our way out of the big ecological mess that we’ve made). While out in the garden, Claire is currently enjoying listening to ‘Soul Boom: Why We Need a Spiritual Revolution’ by Rainn Wilson. She very much hopes that this year’s summer garden will include tomatoes, strawberries, raspberries, cucumbers, potatoes, lettuce, capsicum, rhubarb, various herbs, lemons and some edible flowers (most notably lavender and nasturtiums). 🌿