The Gardener

Dear Reader,

Software design used to be architecture.

You drew the plans. Studied the terrain. Every component was specified. If you got it right, the rest would follow. Despite triggered reviews. Costly rewrites. You designed once; you built once.

My father was a gardener for forty years. He spent his days in the Royal Botanical Gardens, fists deep in rich compost soil, overflowing stacks. His hands were always in the soil, understanding what each plant needed to thrive.

“Nothing perfect, everything grows,” he’d tell me as we’d walk through the gardens. “You don’t command a garden. You listen carefully.”

Now, software feels more like that.

Each project is a plot of land. Some plants are rough-quick experiments that bloom brightly, fade fast. Others are perennials—core features that return season after season, stronger each time. The whole thing is dynamic, responsive, wild. You provide structure and shelter for everything else.

Some days I sit with the code and watch it take unplanned directions, like my father watching seedlings push through soil or elephantine growth in Kyoto’s gardens.

The gardener’s work is different from the architect’s:

• He prunes the weak systems, then nurtures the stronger ones • He plans possibilities rather than fixing rigid structures • He knows what doesn’t flourish sometimes, and that’s not always failure • He lets plants adapt when conditions change • He nurtures growth rather than commanding completion

This approach requires patience. You place some structure. Some features need more sun, others more shade. Some need to be encouraged, others need to be pruned back.

My father taught me to recognize the difference between a seed and a weed. If you mistake one for the other, you might strengthen what should be removed. If you weed too aggressively, you let chaos take over. The garden works best when you let plants compete and grow naturally.

The garden changes with the seasons. It responds to the conditions. It surprises you.

If it’s flourishing, especially if you never expected it to, your gardens will give you moments of pure joy amid the daily rhythms: careful planning, busy watering, patient watching.

This isn’t about abandoning craft. The skilled gardener knows which seedlings to thin, which branches to prune, when to water, when to wait, when to act.

The best software, like the best gardens, feels both designed and alive. If too structured, you kill the natural growth. Too loose, and chaos takes over. But when you find the balance, magic happens.

And perhaps that’s what design has always been: not just imagining what should exist, but creating space for something unexpected to grow.

Keep digging, stay golden.