I have a knack for doing things the hard way. If something seems easy, my tendency is to immediately write it off as a load of nonsense and move on to doing it my way, which always seems to be the most work intensive way.

Generally, I'm right. All of those promises--lose weight with five minutes of exercise a day, the "naughty seat" is the cure to your parenting challenges, use the power of positive thinking to change your life---they're all bullshit. Getting healthy, parenting, and accomplishing your goals are hard. They're not supposed to be easy, and they should cost a hell of a lot more than five minutes and $39.95 plus shipping and handling.

So, yeah, back to lasagna gardening. I read Patricia Lanza's book a few years ago. It sounded tempting, and simple, but I admit tossing it aside and making my gardens in my usual way. It goes something like this:

1. Dig out sod.
2. Double dig entire area, adding compost and manure as you go.
3. Realize that the bed should be bigger, get everything out again, and find yourself still digging Michigan clay in the moonlight.
4. Wake up unable to move.
5. Repeat next time you decide to expand the garden.

(Oh, I forgot the step about using every swear word you learned from middle school on, but not everyone gets as much joy/stress relief from swearing as I do.)

So far, it's worked for me. My once terrible soil is vastly improved, and I have arm muscles to spare. Then, last fall, I found myself with three issues:

--Lots of seeds for wintersowing.
--Not enough bed space in full sun.
--Newly pregnant, and terrified of miscarrying again. (Yes, I know digging a garden can't possibly cause you to miscarry. Let's just chalk it up to hormonal paranoia and leave it at that, shall we?)

So, with Lanza in mind, I got out my newspapers, shredded leaves, grass clippings, finished compost, and the leftover sand from the kid's sand box (why the hell not?) and I started layering over the grass near the current butterfly garden. Basically, I just wanted to extend the edges of the current, narrow garden by a couple of feet. I ended up with what Lanza said I should: a roughly two-foot tall pile of layered organic matter. I was fully expecting having to move all of that crap out of the way again in spring, dig it up and plant later.

Of course, the pile shrunk over the winter. I told myself it was just everything compressing under the weight of snow and ice. By yesterday, when I finally got around to evaluating how much work I really have ahead of me, the pile had shrunk to about four inches high. Still plenty of shredded maple leaves on top. I started pulling the leaves aside with my hands and was shocked to find dark, crumbly soil beneath. Miracle of miracles, I dug holes in the soil, large enough to transplant poppies from another part of the garden, with my bare hands.

Bookmark this post. You're about to experience me saying something I NEVER say:

I. Was. Wrong.

I was wrong. Lasagna gardening really does work. Yes, I know gardeners have discovered it before me. I know that some people purport to make all of their gardens this way. It just seemed to good to be true. This has changed my gardening life. I can make new beds with abandon, expand beds without expending a drop of sweat. I'll have to lift weights and babies to keep my arm muscles toned now!

I can't wait to start transplanting my wintersown seedlings into this bed now. And I've learned an important lesson about being open-minded: a healthy dose of skepticism is a good thing, but missing out on a good thing because of your own stubbornness is a big mistake. Lesson learned.

Garden Blog Quote of the Day: "Umm... so is heroin a green or a brown?"---Anthony @ The Compost Bin

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