The Ambitious Gardener
On ambition, blueberries, and learning to let living things grow on their own timeline.
I’ve always considered myself pretty ambitious. Not the “going back to school for another degree” kind of ambitious, but ambitious, nonetheless.
My mom has a story she loves to tell about young Janna. I’m in the backseat, matter-of-factly detailing the specifics of what my adult life was going to look like. What struck her was how specific, settled, and sure I was about the ins and outs of adulthood despite having never actually lived it. She stopped me mid-sentence: “do you ever think that maybe your life won’t happen that way?” She wasn’t trying to rain on my parade, but genuinely trying to understand how I held so much assurance about a future that was decades away.
“Nope,” I replied. It really hadn’t occurred to me. I’d seen my mom live so many different lives that I’d always assumed you could just…decide on the life you wanted to live and it would happen. So very early on, I became decisive, ambitious, bold, and audacious.
Now at 37, I see that same certainty has carried me through every bold season of my life. Every move, every leap, every decision that made the people who loved me hold their breath a little. I have always believed that what I wanted could be mine. Should be mine.
So when I looked out at my backyard and saw open land, the only logical conclusion was: I’m growing everything.
Watermelon. Blueberries. Raspberries. Strawberries. Grapes. Potatoes. Green beans. Cucumbers. Corn. Bell peppers. Jalapeños. Banana peppers. Zucchini. Onions.
Is space a factor? Probably. I’ll manage.
My vegetable garden sits at the bottom of the steps off the back porch. It’s a narrow raised bed that’s already committed to more than it can reasonably hold. The cucumbers and green beans will be crowded by midsummer. I know this. I planted them anyway.
On the other side of the porch is the fruit garden. Ten by ten, also bursting at the seams. This is my fifth year with watermelon, and every year I’ve gotten a little closer to a solid harvest. This season I planted six Crimson Sweet watermelon plants along the front of that bed. Six watermelon plants is wild, I know. They’re going to overtake that corner of the yard. My grapes will also grow wild and need somewhere for the vines to climb. I’m envisioning what the garden might look like in a couple months, and I’m okay with expanding.
This week, I also decided to increase my planting locations. I saw a packet of peaches and cream corn kernels and it didn’t occur to me that I could grow corn in my backyard. We love corn on the cob, so why not? With both gardens full, the next logical step was planting along my fence, the spaces between fence posts marking dedicated growing space. I tilled the ground and dropped the corn seeds along the back fence. Then I did the same for my two zucchini plants (apparently I only really need one?) and planted them right beside the corn. A few days later, I marched outside with sprouting potatoes I found in the pantry and planted them beside the zucchini. Each year I expand how we use our backyard space, so planting further into the yard guarantees I can enjoy more of this land we’ve got.
I came in with a sketched out plan, but as I realize more of what’s possible, I’m deciding my plants will tell me where the gardens should be. As they thrive, I’ll adjust the borders as needed.
Tucked directly between both gardens, underneath my back deck, is what I’ve started thinking of as my garden haven. Shaded and dry, with lights my husband strung along the top that give the whole backyard a warm glow when they’re plugged in. I’ve added a table and chairs, and the green outdoor carpet from our backyard wedding is now the flooring. Hooks for my tools. A table for repotting. A corner for my soil, fertilizer, and mulch. Eventually I’ll get a speaker so there’s always music playing. My mom is a professional houseplant rehabber and her secret weapon is classical music to get them to healthy again; I’m fully on board with seeing what Beyoncé’s Renaissance does to my vegetables.
I’ll admit: I planted ahead of schedule. The gardening Facebook groups caution that the last frost hasn’t passed. I heard them. I planted anyway.
My strawberry plant is looking healthy. My raspberry bush, cut back for the first time in four years, is coming back lush and full.
And then there’s the blueberry bush.
I planted it in 2024. Two full summers, nothing. Last year I added a second bush thinking cross-pollination might help. Still nothing. I stopped keeping close track of it, stopped expecting much.
Then one random day this spring, doing my usual inventory of what survived the winter, I walked over and found it covered in flowers. Clusters of them, all the way through. I had done nothing differently. I didn’t cut it back in preparation for the winter. I quietly lost hope that it’d ever produce and bought a blooming bush from the greenhouse so my kids and I could enjoy harvesting a quick snack. But there this bush was, blooming entirely on its own timeline.
I couldn’t wait to show our daughter.
Maybe that’s where some of this gardening ambition comes from. I love nature’s surprises, and I love seeing my kids invested in the process. Planting seeds, helping me water, picking harvests. Gardening may be my hobby, but in true Janna fashion, I want to share it with the people I love.
Our 8-year-old led the charge on teaching her little sis to plant cucumber and green bean seeds. They packed the soil, and now we just have to wait “two more minutes”, according to her. Our toddler helps water before bedtime. It’s become part of the evening routine — everyone home, the day winding down, little hands on the water hose. They’ll be front row when it’s time to harvest, and I can’t wait to see their faces light up.
On weekends, I’m out first thing in the morning to see what changed overnight. In the evenings, after everyone is settled, my husband and I have our own version of tending the garden together. A quiet ritual that belongs just to us.
These are the hours I feel most like myself.
People ask why I chose vegetable gardening when both my mothers have shown me how to master lush flower beds. Why this, and why bigger every year?
I think it’s because the garden is one of the few places where I am the captain of my own ship. Where I make decisions according to what feels good to me and not what others recommend. Where I build something that reflects what I love without outside input or approval or the weight of anyone else’s expectations.
Out there, I get to be a nurturer. A provider. A designer. I get to give — to my husband who cooks whatever I harvest, to my neighbors who see me hauling bags of soil, to my kids learning that food comes from the ground and patience pays off.
My neighbor gave me a peony from her garden recently. It was such a simple gesture and it moved me more than I expected. That’s what I want to build toward. Enough abundance to bring something to the people around me. Cucumbers turned into pickles. Peppers pulled fresh when we need them. A relationship with the people next door built around what we’ve each grown.
I don’t have much to show yet. It’s still April, and the garden is mostly promise right now. Seedlings and buds and a blueberry bush covered in flowers and tiny little (green) blueberries. Watermelon plants that have no idea what they’re about to do to my backyard.
But I’ve learned to be patient with living things. They don’t perform on your timeline. They don’t care about your plans. They just need the right conditions and enough time and someone willing to keep showing up.
I’ll keep showing up.