Dan Vierria

Last April, I awoke to high voltage pain in my left knee. I hobbled to the kitchen in hopes movement and coffee might tame the fire. Not a chance.

Discomfort lasted for months. That thing about not overdoing it bounced around in my brain, yet I couldn’t pinpoint exactly how it happened. Injuries sometimes wait to torment us, lurking before pouncing.

Prepping garden beds the previous day was the probable cause. A couple weeks of weeding, digging and pushing wheelbarrows may have been too much, too early in the year.

Growing plants is an endless cycle of discovery. Somewhat less impactful than the discoveries of DNA and the wheel, I stumbled upon home-grown lettuce.

Although I’ve grown many edible crops, lettuce received scant thought. It seemed more convenient to buy it at the grocery store. You know, squeeze a head of plastic-wrapped iceberg and drop it in the shopping cart.

Then I planted six varieties of lettuce, most of them donated for a community garden fundraising event. I held back several starts of each variety for home use.

Admit it, until leaves transform into dazzling colors and blanket streets and lawns, they are merely a supporting cast to our magnificent trees.

Occasionally we remember to appreciate the shade provided in summer and the glorious compost that leaves spawn. Houseplant enthusiasts value leaves for helping clean the air by absorbing carbon dioxide and releasing oxygen. Every garden is enhanced and benefits from leaves.

Often, we are too busy or not interested in granting Sacramento’s urban leaf canopy the respect it deserves. In truth, leaves are as Sacramento as farm to fork and tomatoes.

A garden is an artist’s canvas. Brushstrokes of yellow and red, a green background, swipes of light and shadow. The creative effort is personal and satisfying. But like all masterpieces, gardens age and require attention.

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You may fancy yourself the Claude Monet of Sacramento gardens, but perfection is fleeting. Plants die. Tastes and styles change. Plants outgrow space. Moving to a new home, you may prefer to paint over the existing canvas.

Fall is for planting. The lavender that inexplicably expired, the long-suffering salvia and bare spots stir anxiety. Nurseries are stocked with choices, so many that plant anxiety manifests uncertainty and inaction.

Spring gardening begins with excitement and energy. As August arrives, plants and people experience a trial separation in hopes things work out. We choose air conditioning and shady patios when insufferable heat clobbers Sacramento.

It’s not our fault August gardening begats sloth and surrender. Gardens refuse to cooperate, shedding the lush greens of spring for the crispy browns of late summer.