Hugelkultur: Lessons from the hill garden

This morning I finished a raised bed garden in our wild area, using the German gardening technique known as hugelkultur. It was a 10-day process that will hopefully benefit birds and other pollinators. It also taught me some things I needed to learn about myself.

About eight or nine years ago, my mom had a tulip poplar tree cut down on the bank at the front of her property because it was dying and had begun to lean close to the neighbor’s property line. Charlie’s Tree Service took it down and left the logs where they fell, as Mom instructed.

When we moved here, we used some of the smaller branches for firewood, but left most of the logs where they were because we had made the decision to let that area grow wild. It’s

mostly thicket, with lots of invasive plants—something we’d get around to  landscaping “someday.”

Turns out “someday” was Memorial Day. I was outside watching birds and thinking about how to use the remaining native wildflower seedlings I’d grown over the winter. The fallen tree on the front bank came to mind.

I can make a hugelkultur garden.

 I waded through the weeds and invasives on the hill and found some of the logs. It would definitely be work. As Jimmy says, “There’s not a piece of flat ground in this whole town.” Our property is no exception.

But the logs were the perfect foundation for hugelkultur. This gardening technique entails layering decomposing logs, branches, straw, grass clippings, mulch and other material to create a raised bed with no digging and lots of organic material.

I’d be building a hill on a hill—one that could become home to lots of the seedlings I’d grown, including some of the cup plants that have a tendency to spread.

The bar for success would be pretty low, I told myself. After all, this was the bank. If I can get anything to grow, it’s a win.

I was lit up. From the moment I looked at the logs, there was no pulling me off this idea. If I paced myself, I could do this.

Between the rain we’ve had recently, other gardens to maintain and the planning for this new project, I wasn’t able to start until June 7. Step one was clearing a path to the logs that would allow me to work. Jimmy helped me by clearing some invasive Japanese honeysuckle and cutting up some fallen maple branches that could be used in the layering of this new garden.

I weed whacked a path to the area and around the logs then hung it up for the day, patting myself on the back for being able to do this in small steps.

Step two involved laying down cardboard around the logs to keep weeds from growing back up, and layering it with decomposing branches, sticks and leaves. Our neighbor Stacey gave us cardboard from a couple of doors she had installed in her house. Perfect.

The woods right next to the bank had all the decomposing branches, twigs and leaves I needed.

It took two hours to drag in all this stuff from the woods. After the first couple of trips, I kept saying, “Okay. It’s gonna work.” After about the twelfth trip, when the insect repellent was wearing off, and my glasses wouldn’t stay on my nose from the sweat, I uttered, “No one in their right mind does this.”

I was reminded that I am obsessive and stubborn. When I latch onto something I want to do, I can’t stop thinking about it. And I am DOING it. End of discussion.

Once everything was laid on the cardboard, it looked pretty good.

Yeah, it was hard work, but it was great exercise, and the goal was worthy: wildflowers that would yield lots of pollen and host caterpillars for future broods of eastern bluebirds and other birds. I’d take a day off and resume.

I told Jimmy step three was no big deal. Straw, sawdust and sticks. I got started at 7:30 am before the heat came up. We had plenty of straw next to our compost bin. Three trips up and down the hill with buckets of straw and I had it.

Jimmy had a 50-gallon trash bin full of sawdust in his workshop. I got all the sawdust I needed. Three more trips up and down the hill. Note to self: Wear a mask next time.

I spent the next hour picking up more decomposing branches, sticks and pieces of tree bark from the woods. It was a treasure trove of rotting, organic material. Placing all of it on the little hills was like solving a puzzle. It was fun fitting the sticks and bark together so there were enough crevices to hold mulch, but not too many.

Done with hugelkultur for the day. I spent the next several hours planting wildflower seedlings in the new raised beds by the house. Tomorrow I’d cover the hills with mushroom mulch from the pile remaining in our driveway.

That evening, I went out to pick strawberries, bent over and felt dizzy. Sure, it was hot. But this was my body giving me a warning.

I talked with Jimmy about what step four would look like. I’d shovel the mulch into the cart attached to our little tractor, Jimmy would drive it over to the top of the bank, and I’d carry it down in buckets. Yeah, right.

Jimmy’s been dealing with my foolishness for 27 years, and he loves me. He knew how to tell me I couldn’t do this in a way that I would hear it. It was time to ask for help.

So I texted my nephew Jake, who has also dealt with my foolishness for years and loves me.

Man, it hurt my pride to say those words: “I’m over my head.” But the words were true. What was I thinking? Why didn’t I build "asking for help" into the plan?

I’ve always been like this. I like throwing myself into big projects and creating things. But the reality is I’m getting older. My heart and my ambition are still 40. My body is 24 years older than that.

Jake got with my brother Andy and figured out how to finish this “hill on a hill” project quickly and sensibly. Andy would bring over his quad and Jake’s dump cart, and there would be no lugging five-gallon buckets up and down the bank.

When I got up Thursday morning, I was drained. I did my usual morning chores, then came in and drank a Liquid IV. This stuff will revive you quickly after you’ve been foolish. I stayed out of the heat and rested to be ready for the final push.

It was 83 degrees and humid when we started at 6 pm. I decided to abandon the smaller hill and just finish the larger one.

Jake shoveled mushroom mulch into the cart, drove the quad through the woods, dumped it at the site, and I shoveled it onto the hill. He, his wife, Brittany, and I cut open 20 bags of soil and piled it on top of the mulch.

Two hours later: Ta da.

When I look at these photos of the finished hill ready to be made into a garden, it all looks so simple. But it wasn't. It was a lesson in understanding and accepting my limitations. I learned that just because I’ve always muscled through things doesn’t mean I have to do things that way now. The fact is I can’t do things that way now. And that’s okay.

It rained all day yesterday. So this morning as the rain slowed to a drizzle, I took my time, went through the woods rather than down the bank, and planted 32 native wildflower seedlings on the new hugelkultur bed. Showy goldenrod, cup plants, orange coneflowers and wild petunias that will hopefully benefit bees, birds, insects and hummingbirds for decades to come.

Would I do this again? No. Not In such a big way with so many obstacles. Next time I will act on what I’ve learned this time. It will be a much smaller project that doesn’t outrun my ability. And I will ask for help.

I dearly love gardening for wildlife. It’s become a spiritual endeavor for me, something I believe God is calling me to do. I’d like to be able to do it for a long time. Maybe the lessons from the hill garden will make that possible.