And We Need More Than We Think!

A Gardener’s Dilemma

They should have been full-sized plants by now. The chunky cotyledons and first true leaves had emerged and spread, attempting to fulfill their role by absorbing as much sunlight as possible. But, as bean seedlings are wont to do if something goes wrong at this stage, the plants had stopped right there, as if in suspended animation, stubby, lime-green fists the only thing waving in the wind at the sky and passersby. 

The owner of the plot—beautifully made and tended wooden, raised beds, positioned prominently in her front yard—was beside herself wondering what was wrong with them. And my soft spot for front yard gardening—and someone who says, “Screw the yard! To hell with growing grass! I’m growing vegetables…right here, up front, for all to see!”—had me completely rooting for her and sympathizing deeply.

She quickly started through her ideas for potential causes—too much or not enough water, insect damage on the seed leaves, possibly nematodes in the soil. I didn’t know what to say. The cause was so blatant that I didn’t want to offend her by stating something so obvious. In fact, I’d seen it immediately upon pulling up to her house, and could’ve predicted the scene before I walked up the steps to her garden: The raised beds, as beautiful and prominent as they were, were right under two large maple trees, leaving those poor beans with only scant light in the early morning.

She really had only two options: cut down the trees, or tear down and move her beautiful beds.

We All Need This

I’m guessing many would dismiss this story as an aberration, or the ill-informed actions of a neophyte. But it’s actually something I see all the time, even among veteran gardeners of many years. In fact, I see as many gardens that could use more sun as I do gardens that get enough. And I have similar conversations about it regularly, most often with veteran gardeners.

Sometimes this is almost comical. Extremely intelligent people and otherwise good gardeners regularly to try to justify to me that their spot under a tree, or right next to one, provides enough light because they’ve watched the sun peek under the tree for a bit in the morning as it rises or just before it sets—or they swear their plants get enough during the couple of hours it peeks through a small opening in the canopy of trees. All the while, we’re standing over their languishing, leggy, stringy plants in the shade, and they’re incredulously wondering what could possibly be the cause. Often, this veteran gardener and otherwise brilliant person will swear it’s an insect or disease problem—and be fully versed in that cause and solution, not understanding that the insect problem happened when their plants were so weak and stunted they couldn’t outgrow what would otherwise be minor damage or have enough strength to defend themselves.

“They need more sun,” I’ll say.

“Really?!” they always reply, seeming shocked, “They get three-to-four hours a day.”

While I try not to show it, in my mind my hand slaps my forehead so hard I can sort of feel it.

It Can Sneak Up On Even The Savviest Veteran Gardener

Other times, it’s more prosaic: whether it’s some trees that have quickly snuck to greater heights, obscuring direct sunlight for more of the day than someone has realized; a propensity to look to other causes for plants struggling, assuming it must be insect damage or plant diseases, because lack of sun is “just too basic” for a veteran gardener like themselves; or the stubborn general refusal to re-evaluate a previously chosen site for the hours of sunlight it truly gets in a day.

But I also understand. If we’re honest, most of us have been there at some point. And I’m no different. I’ve been growing plants my entire life, learning so many of these lessons at such a young age that I’ve often taken them for granted. Still, as much as I thought I’d appreciated this point, I’ve done the same thing, as evidenced by our first year growing sweet corn in a new community garden with some large trees for neighbors. 

Our plot had an unobstructed horizon from the northeast all the way around to the southwest but had large trees about seventy-five yards to the west. I knew it wasn’t perfect and was a little hesitant, but I thought we’d be fine.

“Maybe we won’t get the most abundant harvest,” I thought, “but we’ll at least get something.”

I was dead wrong. Our corn on the west side of the plot, closest to the trees, barely got taller than my waist. Down the rows to the east, each successive plant—getting just seconds more sunlight a day—was noticeably taller, several inches even. And by the far east end, they were full-height plants. Tall. Thin. Leggy. But full height.

Standing back and looking at the plot, the sloping heights were comical, all slanting downward uniformly toward the west. It looked like we were attempting some sort of communication with aliens or making some sort of produce political statement.

It wasn’t, though. It was just an object lesson I’ll never forget. Knowing corn, I knew the short stalks weren’t going to produce anything worthwhile, but I still held out hope for the taller plants. Wrong again. They were over my head in height, but not even the tallest ones produced viable ears. Most didn’t produce ears at all. The few that did, barely even had kernels. They got between eight and ten hours of direct sunlight a day, and it still wasn’t enough! 

“They need more sun!”

Time To Drop the Blame or Shame and Recognize It For What It Is

Not fully appreciating how much sun our garden plants need is nothing to be ashamed about. But it is something we should finally be honest about, even to ourselves. Then, we can give our plants what they really need, have the successes we’ve always wanted, and stop blaming other non-culprits, especially ourselves.

This is our first—and most vital—step to making our gardens more productive. Our garden plants actually need extreme amounts of sun compared to many other plants. With it, they are biochemical marvels, producing protective layers, coatings, antioxidants, antimicrobials, bioflavonoids, and more–which also benefit our own health. Immense amounts of sunlight; adequate water; and deep, loose, fertile soil are the drivers for all of this amazing alchemy. Plants literally turn those three into everything they, and we, need. Sunlight, however, is what powers all of their processes—all of their growth, all of their synthesis of the amazing compounds that protect them and those who eat them. Without sunlight, no soil compounds or water can be pulled from the earth to make these marvels. Getting our garden plants immense amounts of sunlight, then, is our first priority. Without it, they languish, never reaching their full potential for their own health—becoming susceptible to insect attacks and diseases simply because they didn’t have enough sunlight to power the processes that fight these off themselves—and ours.

By why is sunlight is so neglected as a topic, even in the gardening literature, instead of being given the position of utmost importance it really deserves, and what do green-thumbed gardeners know that puts it in its proper context? How much sun do garden plants really need? Why do garden plants need such extreme amounts of it compared to many other plants? And how can you find the sunniest location on your property, so you’re finally able to grow the proud plants you’ve desired?

First, let’s explore what green-thumbed gardeners know and can do, so we know what skills we’re trying to emulate.