After taking the dog for his early morning walk, it's time to figure out how much watering I need to do. If it's actually raining the answer is none. If it's cloudy, only the tomato plants will need water. They are bushy, sitting in the hottest, sunniest part of the property, and in pots that dry out even without sun. If the sun is shining, then all the pots will need a dose. If it's going to be hot and sunny, the raised beds will also need water. This assessment determines how much time I will have to spend at the job.

This morning decision is based in part on the choice I made when I moved here to work with raised beds and big pots to grow vegetables. After thirty plus years of farming, I couldn't imagine not growing some of my own food.

The routine is also affected by the place we chose to move to. There is poor clay soil, rock, and shade. No natural place for a large vegetable garden. I make do with pots and raised beds in the sunny areas I can find.

Some days, when the watering routine is extensive, the time it requires gets to me. It has to be fit between time writing, looking after the puppy, and whatever other tasks await the day. I can feel stressed by the task. In the kind of dry spell we had earlier this month, it felt like a burden because so much had to be watered. Most days, I enjoy checking the progress of the plants, noticing the health of the ecosystem, but sometimes I have to remind myself of the purpose behind carrying buckets and dragging hoses.

The thing that I can lose track of in the midst of all the specific tasks is aspiration. Why am I doing this?

I've been thinking that this feeling of being stuck with daily tasks is part of retirement. (Not to blame Covid for once.) When I was working, there were daily tasks that were part of the mission of my job. The purpose of those was clear. Taking time to care for the garden was about taking time for me and for the other things I value. What are the values, the goals, the aspirations that direct my choices now?

Part of gardening is about climate awareness. Keeping my hands in the earth tells me how the ecosystem is faring. Daily, I felt the pain of that extended dry spell. When we finally got rain, I felt the relief of the creatures that live here, saw the recovery of the plants.

Part of gardening is taking responsibility for climate action. We've been flying food around the world so that our grocery stores are full. We are becoming more aware of the amount of carbon generated by air travel and transport. Gardening reminds me that the world can be fed with less carbon emissions and helps me remember to buy local.

Gardening, for me, is also about justice for all the people of our world. Land in the Global South that was used for local food production shifted to export crops. In Kenya, I saw hundreds of acres of pineapple grown for North American and European markets. That land used to support many small ten-acre family farms and supplied food for the local community. Buying local and growing our own can be a way of pushing for food to stay where it is needed and land to stay in the hands of family farmers.

I have my first two ripe tomatoes this week. That's the earliest I've ever had ripe tomatoes. Some years on the farm, I would have none ripe on the vine, bringing them all inside to turn red. But here, I have two (small) fruit ready, and I see another starting to turn even as more flowers appear. These rewards help me to remember why I bother filling buckets, ladling water. It helps when we can see signs of the goal we are working towards with the ordinary actions of every day.

When we get frustrated by routine, sometimes it means that we need to look again at our choices, measure them by our values and aspirations, and build change based on that assessment. Sometimes it just means that we need to remind ourselves of the goals that underpin our choices.

Cathy Hird lives on the traditional territory of the Saugeen Ojibway