Why I’m Changing How I Garden This Year
Several years ago, following a garden lecture, I was approached by a member of the audience who made a reference to something I think many gardeners experience: “Compulsive Plant Acquisition Disorder” or CPAD. The primary manifestation of CPAD involves a trip to a nursery or garden center with the specific intention of purchasing certain plants and leaving with several more than planned. In other words, impulse buys.
I don’t know a single gardener who hasn’t lived this once or twice or hundreds of times. Either there’s something about buying plants that — for gardeners — is unlike any other retail experience where we lose all control, or I just happen to be drawn to plant addicts. Or both.
In my own experience, the secondary effects of my CPAD look something like this:
1. Get home, plant what I have room for, then set the “extras” aside in a shady spot.
2. Keep the extras watered. Maybe. Some days. I can nurse them back to health, right?
3. Three months later (or next spring if they survive) find a home for half, compost the half that died, plan next trip to the garden center.
4. Repeat several times each year.
When I talk about CPAD with fellow gardeners, there’s always a little laughter and slow nodding in a way that seems to express a deeply felt and shared experience, something “only us gardeners” understand. I’m realizing I’m not alone here.
I’ve always seen CPAD as a funky gardener’s quirk, something to be loved and cherished and misunderstood in a sort of endearing way. As I’ve thought more about it, I see how I’ve managed to repeatedly brush off the losses, both of the plants I killed through slow neglect and also the money I’ve wasted. I’ve become desensitized. I keep doing the same things over and over and I’m not acknowledging this behavior in perhaps the way I should.
As I reflect on more than two decades gardening, I’m beginning to wonder if there’s more to my CPAD than I once thought. Is this experience somehow intrinsically linked to my joy of gardening? Is the mental challenge and emotional payback of finding that *perfect* spot for an impulse plant — maybe a missed opportunity I didn’t see before — worth the loss and cost of those which don’t find a home in the garden? Or is the joy in the acquisition and thrill of the “hunt” — stumbling upon some rare plant I didn’t expect to find but feel I absolutely must grow, even if I don’t realistically have room to grow it.
I do think CPAD is something that brings me joy. I love plants, and while my tastes and preferences have shifted over time I’ve always been drawn to “collect”. I’ve driven for hours to visit a specialty nursery and packed my tiny sedan full of plants in the interest of diversifying my personal horticultural collection. It’s also probably one of the reasons my career has leaned toward public gardens: living museums with collections of plants.
But, given the times we live in, I’m also coming to see my CPAD as a behavior enabled by my privilege and by systemic inequities. In the already immortal words of poet Amanda Gorman, “We’ve learned the norms and notions of what ‘just is’ is not always ‘justice’”. Reflect on where, how, and perhaps even why we garden and our full world stares back. Gardening is not immune from inequity and it is not immune from politics.
The reasons we garden and the resources we have to invest in our gardens dramatically impact how we garden. Most of the light-hearted exchanges I’ve had have been with other gardeners who likely own their own home, can access and afford healthy food, and are either retired or only working one job and thereby have time to invest in gardening for recreation rather than necessity or survival. If you’re gardening for subsistence or don’t have much disposable income, it’s extremely important that nothing goes to waste.
In this spirit, I’m thinking about how I can begin to unlearn and reshape my CPAD behavior and mindset. As I look to the coming growing season I want to make conscious and informed choices that reposition my resources of time, space, money, experience, knowledge, and emotional passion in a way that begins to make gardening accessible for more people in my community.
I’m starting this process by acknowledging the natural generosity that comes from gardens: they benefit our environment, our community, our local wildlife, our bodies, and our souls. And as a result, every gardener I’ve met has also been generous. I’m hopeful my actions this season — and in years to come — extend this generosity through fearless, conscious, and purposeful cultivation and propagation of patience and gratitude. As gardeners we already know how to do this. This isn’t a new skill we have to learn: we simply need to apply it in different way.
I’ve started brainstorming how I could change my gardening this year, and I’m sharing those ideas today in the hope it may inspire change. This list isn’t intended to be prescriptive or finite; it’s simply the beginning of my own process. I’ll be curious to hear what you think and what ideas you have.
1. Let’s say I spend $100 on impulse-buy plants which go to waste each year. How could I reinvest that money in my community? Perhaps donating to a nonprofit or purchasing tools for a community garden?
2. Since we’re just moving into a new house with no garden (yet) I don’t have any mature plants to share. But, if I did, I could make a point to collect seeds of favorite plants with the intention of sharing them.
3. Rather than be tempted by the “instant gratification” culture of buying gallon-size perennials and large shrubs (also things that tend to fuel CPAD), what if I intentionally saved money by starting things from seed or cuttings and reinvesting the money I save into a worthy cause? (see action one)
4. Could I share my time and/or talent to help a neighbor in their own garden? Maybe they need help rejuvenating an over-grown space or maybe they’re just getting started and looking for guidance. I could post an offer of support on a neighborhood message board to help spread the word.
5. Could I plant an extra row of tomatoes or potatoes or whatever and donate extra harvests to a local food bank?
6. I’m starting seeds indoors and I’ll start a few extra with the intention of sharing them with neighbors.
7. I won’t be purchasing any gas-powered tools or equipment to reduce noise and air pollution in my neighborhood. I’m going to choose to burn calories, not carbon.
This is the proverbial tip of the iceberg and over time new ideas will pop up. I want to emphasize that my actions reflect my personal circumstances, geography, lived experience, and my economic status — all of which are informed by a degree of privilege. If you’re considering a change in how you garden, your actions might look different than mine, and that’s ok: it’s expected, really.
I think it’s also important to remember changing any behavior begins with small steps. Many little changes over time can lead to substantial transformation in the long term. Gardening, like life, is a journey. Also, awareness is a powerful ally. The first step in solving a problem is recognizing and admitting there is one. CPAD is no longer a healthy or acceptable behavior for me.
Imagine the collective impact we gardeners could have in our communities when we look and act beyond our own plots. Gardens and gardeners can be the greatest force for good through our quiet, constant, and unwavering cultivation of hope. We have a means to help heal and restore trust in ourselves and our neighbors.
Let’s own this moment. Let’s own our identity. Let’s own our privilege and actively work to share it by empowering new gardeners everywhere.
Together, we can cultivate more than simply the sum of our plants.
