Why We All Need to Get Our Hands in the Soil

When I put my hand up to write this article, I initially had plans to write about environmental NGOs and why so many continue to fall short in delivering meaningful change, despite bold, well-intentioned promises. Then, after witnessing the ways in which COP29 again stormed its way into the news cycle, with not much to show, I thought perhaps this was a more important conversation to have.

But after an afternoon of getting my hands dirty, pulling out a few weeds in the garden following an obnoxiously boring French class, I decided perhaps this was a ripe place to focus my attention. And a bit more of a hopeful place to dwell.

So yep, you guessed it! This article is going to be dedicated to the humble act of gardening.

For ease of reading, I’ll be discussing three main ideas: gardening as a profoundly (often unintentional) anti-capitalist act, gardening as self-care and care for the planet, and gardening as a directed political action.

PSA: This article is driven in equal parts by my desire to find a lovely human (or several) that are willing to give some love and care to the garden after I’m gone (sounds like I’m dying, I’m just heading back to Australia) but also to convince more of you of the value of gardening and growing your own food.

Gardening as Profoundly Anti-Capitalist

I want to start here with a little story.

This past summer, at home in Tasmania, my father, an avid gardener, was blessed with a handful of tomato plants that sprouted naturally from last year’s crop. They popped up in the veggie garden and quickly announced their arrival by growing prolifically.

These tomato plants were huge, spreading to cover the whole garden. Hundreds, if not thousands, of tomatoes emerged over the course of the coming months. Dad was so overwhelmed (in the best way possible) by the sheer scale of his tomato success, that he started finding new homes for the tomatoes. Boxes full were given away at the local markets. Handfuls were passed over the fence to the elderly neighbors. Their sweet juicy nectarines were handed back.

This quickly evolved into passing over bottled passata and tomato relish for nectarine pie. A local restaurant heard of Dad’s surplus tomatoes, and for the rest of the summer Dad swapped boxes for a meal at the restaurant. Thankfully this extended to his sons whenever they visited.

A friend of mine who has her own fermentation and preserves business took buckets full to use in her recipes. A community group in Hobart used kilos of pasta sauce and fresh tomatoes to feed the masses at their weekly gatherings.

And still tomatoes went to waste. But that’s the beauty of gardening. Fruit falling to the ground never really goes to waste. Just returning to the soil, seeds aplenty, waiting for the next year to sprout again. Indeed, all of this arose from the seeds that fell to the ground the previous autumn.

Just a few months earlier, in a class at university, my favorite professor had been discussing the beauty of seeds and gardening more broadly. For the last class of the semester, he brought in broad bean seeds that were gifted to him by a previous student 15 years earlier.

For the past decade and a half, my lecturer had grown broad beans and given the seeds to every class member, asking each student to sow the seeds and to pass on the gesture. It is fair to assume that one handful of beans given 15 years ago had led to the planting and harvesting of hundreds of plants in backyards around Hobart and further afield. I planted mine and they are still growing in my old shared house garden.

My lecturer’s point with this act was this: That the beautiful gift of life stored in the form of a seed costs nothing but can generate so much good. And that this gift is exponential.

In this sense, gardening is very anti-capitalist. Produce grown in the garden (and the seeds from these plants) are a gift from nature that can be regifted to others, shared and swapped and eaten and celebrated—a liberating and life-bringing act fundamentally rooted in connection to the land and to others.

Gardening as Self-Care: Nurturing Ourselves and the Planet

Gardening is also fundamentally about returning to something better, something rooted in the past and oriented to the future. It’s about returning to ourselves in new ways (old ways really) and to the natural environment around us.

Gardening is good for the body and good for the soul. Getting your hands into some steamy compost and picking out handfuls of weeds is a meditation—a respite from the fast-paced hustle and bustle of our increasingly rushed lives. I have certainly found that it’s very difficult to be unhappy when you’re collecting handfuls of fresh greens for dinner or flicking caterpillars off broccoli leaves. And if you get to share a garden’s produce with others, the happiness surely multiplies.

Gardening requires slowing down. It forces us to contend with the seasons, and cycles of death and decay. Gardening makes us more aware of what is happening all around us, from the critters and the pollinators to the amount of rain held in the clouds above.

We live such distanced and disconnected lives from the natural world that we are inherently a part of, that simply getting in the garden can be a reclamation, a way to remind ourselves of all we are connected to and the stewardship we must return to.

Gardening also fundamentally orients us toward big, important questions: What is our role within the natural world? How do we care for what sustains us? How is food grown, and who grows it? How can individuals and communities take control of their food systems?

Gardening as a Political Act

Gardening can take so many different forms; it can be as varied as the people who practice it and the environments in which it occurs. Gardening can be a solitary endeavor pursued in private space like a courtyard or a balcony, or it can be a deeply connected act embedded in communities and shared public space. Gardening can differ radically in scale, from a few pots of herbs and greens to bustling community gardens. There lies beauty and value in all these examples.

Gardening can also be a rebellious political act that challenges the status quo, as seen in practices like guerrilla gardening and botanarchy. These forms of gardening are premised upon transforming and reclaiming neglected and poorly used public spaces into green, productive areas, often without permission, to challenge private ownership and environmental conservatism.

A good friend of mine in Australia started a guerrilla garden in Meanjin (Brisbane) during Covid, turning an abandoned council-owned plot into a thriving communal space where all walks of life from the community would meet and get their hands into the soil, sharing produce and meals.

Engaging in guerrilla gardening/botanarchy is an empowering act, a way to push back against systems that aren’t really serving us.

With our ecological systems in crisis, political instability growing the world over, and social divisions deepening, it is hard to envision a livable future without radical scaled change—the revolutionary, system-transforming type.

I want to suggest that it is too the small battles that can pave the way to new modes of living and relating to each other and the planet. The peaceful revolution of growing something in the garden (whether in your backyard, or in a poorly used public space), in my opinion, is a small but sure step forward out of this mess.