I Spent 3 Saturdays Building a Raised Garden Bed. Is That a Waste of Time?
My neighbor Dave stopped by yesterday to bring me extra jalapeños from his garden, and he leaned against my porch rail looking at the lopsided heap of lumber I’ve got at the end of my backyard, and said, “You know you could’ve bought one of these pre-built for less than you spent on that wood, right? All that time, seems like kind of a waste, huh?” I laughed and stirred my cold coffee, and said “Yeah, probably” because I didn’t know what else to say. I still don’t, not really.
Let’s get the receipts out first, just to be honest. I messed up the very first cut on the longest board. Measured twice, cut once my ass, I was distracted by a text from my boss asking if I could look at a report over the weekend, and I cut it two inches too short. Had to drive all the way back to Home Depot, wait 22 minutes in the lumber cutting line because the kid working the counter was deep in a TikTok about some guy restoring a 1978 Camaro, and by the time I got back home it was almost 6 PM, so I only got one side done that first Saturday. Second Saturday, I drove a screw straight through my palm, just a little nick, but I got a splinter of lumber in the wound that turned red and swollen, so I had to go to urgent care Sunday morning. That was another $40 copay, on top of the $120 I spent on lumber and screws and dirt. Pre-made ones at the big box garden center are $79.99, assembled and delivered. So by any logical calculation, this is a waste of time and money. That’s not me being dramatic, that’s just math. I ended up ordering pepperoni pizza that night anyway, and I didn’t even throw a fit about the mess-up like I normally would when I waste something. That part was new.
I’ve been thinking about this question a lot lately, anyway, not just about the garden bed. Is this thing a waste of time? I ask it about the half-finished knit scarf I’ve been working on during my commute on the train, the friend’s birthday party I went to last month that I left early because I felt like I should be home catching up on laundry, the two hours I spend every Friday night playing that stupid farming video game my little cousin got me into. Everything gets weighed these days, doesn’t it? If it doesn’t make you money, if it doesn’t get you closer to some promotion or goal, if it doesn’t look good on an Instagram grid, it’s a waste. I got that marketing email last week from that productivity guru I used to follow, talking about “time audits” and “cutting the fat from your schedule” and I thought, what’s fatter than a lopsided raised garden bed that costs twice as much as a pre-built one?
But here’s the thing I haven’t told anyone, not even Dave. Before I started building this thing, my Saturdays looked like this: I’d roll out of bed at 10, make coffee, sit on the couch, and scroll until my thumb hurt. I’d watch 17 15-second reels about productivity hacks, see three people post about their side hustles that make six figures a year, feel like garbage that I’m not doing more with my free time, and then order takeout for lunch and do the same thing until it was time for bed. I don’t think anyone would call that not a waste of time. When I was building the garden bed, I didn’t check my phone that much. You can’t, right? If you’re staring at your phone while you’re measuring, you cut the board wrong. If you’re scrolling while you’re driving screws, you drill through the wrong side. I listened to that whole 10-part podcast about 90s grunge bands I’ve had downloaded on my phone for two years and never gotten around to. I drank cheap beer on my backyard steps after I finished each day, and I didn’t feel guilty about it because I’d actually done something with my hands, even if it was a stupid lopsided garden box.
I planted cherry tomato and basil seeds in it last Sunday. I got dirt under my nails, and I haven’t had dirt under my nails since I was 12 and I used to help my grandma plant marigolds in her backyard. I’d forgotten what that feels like, that grit that doesn’t wash off all the way no matter how many times you soap your hands. This morning, I went out back before work, and there’s a tiny green sprout popping up through the dirt. It could be a weed, for all I know. I don’t know shit about gardening. But I knelt down there for two whole minutes just looking at it. I didn’t pull my phone out to take a photo, didn’t check my notifications. I just breathed in the smell of wet dirt and looked at the tiny little leaf.
I still don’t know the answer, honestly. If all the seeds die, if nothing grows but dandelions this summer, that box is just gonna sit there lopsided at the end of the yard, and I’ll have to admit Dave was right. It was a waste. Even if the tomatoes grow, I could’ve bought a whole bushel of them for what I spent on this thing. That doesn’t add up on any budget. But what’s the alternative? Spending all my free time scrolling, feeling bad that I’m not being productive, never doing anything that doesn’t check a box on some list of “worthwhile” things? I think we waste way more time worrying if what we’re doing is a waste than we do actually doing the “worthless” stuff.
I’m gonna go water the dirt after work today. I still don’t know if it’s worth it. But I also don’t really care that much anymore, I guess. (1128 words)
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