Small Changes.

And other notes about kitchen garden design.

Hello Everyone.

‘Small is Beautiful’ was coined by British economist E.F. Schumacher during the 1973 energy crisis to champion small, appropriate technologies that empower people. I readily embrace this term, partly because I am a diminutive person, yet also because this is how I think about garden design.

When I became a kitchen garden designer twenty years ago, my best advice was to give up growing the hard stuff. Corn, tomatoes, and squash all require too much space. Instead, focus on all the most flavorful edibles that will never be found in a farmers’ market and fit neatly into a tiny space: fragrant herbs, tender salad greens, and the more unusual lettuce and chicories. Small is beautiful because the best kitchen gardens are intimate spaces that are easy to plant and give gardeners a sense of pride and pleasure.

This time of year, small is beautiful in terms of fall cleanup. I don’t know about you, but I’m having difficulty keeping up with all the plant growth that is no longer productive and requires pruning, pulling, and hauling to the compost pile. As evidenced by the size of the overflowing compost pile, it’s been a bumper year with more to go. It’s an embarrassment of riches in the form of greenery.

There are moments during our lives when we notice how certain things make us feel and know when it’s time to change. As these voluminous piles build, my stress around getting things done makes me think about the time and effort I put into my garden. Some years are better than others, and I admit that these past two years have been difficult, mainly because I have been preoccupied with other things. I’ve fallen out of the garden routine in favor of different activities.

 I’ve been a gardener for more than half my lifetime, and when I think about change and the need for growth, it looks much like my garden. Even the vocabulary is transferrable and evocative of how we build a life: growing, nurturing, watching, and enjoying the end-of-the-year harvest. But I am losing touch with the pleasure part of the garden because I am not sure I can sustain this pace. I am rethinking my relationship with my garden so we can both be happy.

Twenty years ago, when I embarked on my journey to become a kitchen garden designer, I was adamant that my garden would remain a source of inspiration. I was new to gardening, and with an artist's perspective, I dove in full-time. I shared what I learned with my readers and authored five books on design and growing with recipes for the harvest. I started with a five-year plan for my landscape, a blank canvas, which helped me look forward and frequently take the time to reflect on change, planning carefully for the year ahead.

I was never one to keep a garden journal because my iPhone does it for me. Looking back, I can see that the delicate standard lilac bush in the center (see photo above), placed as a focal point, has grown too broad, and I can no longer step around it without dodging a branch. The flush-to-the-ground beds are an open invitation for rabbits to feast. Even the shape of the beds, a classic four-square parterre, evolves into a mass by summer’s end instead of neat rows that are easy to harvest. I am ready to reframe the kitchen garden and reassess how I spend my time in and out of the garden.

My first cookbook was published in 2003, and I have been writing this newsletter, The Art of Growing Food, ever since. Most of you found me through Instagram, magazines, books, and lectures. It has been a pleasure to share my six steps to successful kitchen garden design with all of you, and I will continue to write this newsletter.

An online design class with Longwood Garden is planned for this winter, and I have another book in the works. I’ve also taken on a full-time job with our community library, a position that combines my love of books with a way to connect with more people. But I will no longer offer garden lectures to garden clubs, master gardeners, botanical gardens, and symposiums.

Growing food truly matters, and I want everyone to experience planting a seed, watching it grow, and taking pride in eating what comes from the earth. Creating a kitchen garden as a sanctuary supports our connection with the land and good health on many levels: for ourselves and the natural world.  Small is Beautiful pertains to a garden and a state of mind because simplification leads to a deeper appreciation of those small things vital to life on earth.

The best gardens are loved by the gardeners who create them, which means that the best size for a garden will vary. Yet, it should also feel like a pleasure and not a burden. When the gardener says, “ I am going out to work in the garden,” instead of “I am going to play in the garden,” you know it’s time to make a change. Maybe tweak it, but be open to what your garden tells you.

Go small. Love your garden and take time to observe the subtle changes around us every day and every night. These brief moments affirm why we garden with the knowledge that the plant community gives back to us in more ways than we can imagine.

With love from my garden to yours,

Ellen Ecker Ogden

Follow me on Instagram or my books at ellenogden.com