There is something incredibly humble about the building itself. On the edge of an unremarkable backyard are eight feet by six feet polycarbonate panels with aluminum frames. Just the kind of orderly chaos that occurs when someone spends twelve months in a row learning by making mistakes. A thermometer hangs slightly crooked near the door, and a bag of perlite leans against a corner. You don’t seem to be able to alter your perspective in this place. It does, however.
The first month was humbling in unexpected ways. When planting the seeds, optimistic timelines, which assume nature operates on a schedule under your control, were considered. No, it doesn’t. Germination was either delayed or didn’t occur for entire weeks. It was always tempting to change the water or add fertilizer. Most of those interventions worsened the situation. It was almost always the plants that were left mostly alone that did the best. It is somewhat depressing to realize that you were the problem.
A greenhouse operates on its own internal clock and your primary role is to read it accurately rather than override it gradually changed my perspective. Carrots, for instance, perform most of their functions covertly. Pulling one up three weeks too early, you find a thin, pale root that provides no useful information. You’ll find something edible if you leave it unattended for another month. Sounds easy, doesn’t it? If you haven’t practiced patience much, it really isn’t that hard.
Food itself proved to be the most insightful lesson of all. The tomato in a grocery store bin is not the same as the tomato grown in a greenhouse and ripened on the vine. The flavor is almost aggressive – concentrated, slightly acidic, and deeply personal – and the texture and scent are different. It is difficult to avoid feeling resentful after tasting the alternative while standing in the produce section of a supermarket. The industrial food system has never really been known for its taste.
Succession planting changed the way the area functioned. Unlike planting lettuce in a single batch and waiting for it to finish, plantings were spaced two weeks apart, so the greenhouse never went silent. There was always something entering and leaving. Gradually, it became more like a process than a garden, which was always the case. It wasn’t a change in technique, but rather a change in perception. A new lease of life was given to the project after observing its success.
In the fourth month, soil had almost become an obsession. Healthy soil is more of an engine of growth than a backdrop, which prompted a fairly thorough rethink. Regularly, compost was added. Biochar was added in small amounts. As the smell of the ground changed, it became earthier, more complex, and alive in a way that is hard to describe without sounding insane. Nevertheless, it is genuine. It is easy to feel the difference between healthy soil and depleted soil with your fingers before you notice it in your plants.
There were failures. A spider mite infestation spread quickly in August. For some reason, a whole row of basil bolted. From a distance, the squash looked flawless, but inside, it crumbled. There was a little pain in each of them. They also taught a lesson that no gardening video or article had adequately conveyed, namely that pests and undesirable results are part of the system rather than anomalies. The greenhouse doesn’t malfunction when something goes wrong. The cycle continues unabated.
Having lived through a full year of this, it’s hard to ignore how disconnected the majority of daily life is from food production. Seeds, soil, water, and time are the machinery of eating, but most people don’t interact with them. This is not an assessment. After a year of watching something transform from nothing into something edible, it becomes increasingly difficult to ignore. Most people don’t realize how tolerant, resilient, and giving nature is. Mini greenhouses served as lengthy and sometimes muddy justifications for paying more attention.
As a Senior Editor at Mini Greenhouse Kits, Hannah Kinsley is a passionate supporter of small-space gardening and urban gardening. Hannah, who is currently majoring in Environmental Policy through the University of Michigan’s Environmental Studies program, infuses her writing with a solid academic foundation and a sincere enthusiasm for the environment. You can find her playing soccer or exploring the city’s green areas with friends when she’s not researching the newest trends in city gardening or creating content for minigreenhousekits.com.