If you're reading this, there's a good chance you've already come across the term “digital garden” before. I feel like especially now, as Silicon Valley tries its hardest to turn the internet into a hellscape, more and more folks are trying to build a more human Web.
I first heard about digital gardens from the Elm community, where a project called Elmcraft popped up to collect Elm content and knowledge from around the Web. In turn, Elmcraft quotes Maggie Appleton's A Brief History and Ethos of the Digital Garden:
Gardens are imperfect by design. They don't hide their rough edges or claim to be a permanent source of truth.
Imperfect by design
I struggle with perfectionism a lot, and when I do something I want to do it Right™. I don't mind this quality in many areas of my life, but when it comes to writing and note taking it has been a real thorn in my side.
More than once I've gone out and bought a fancy notebook, only to make a mistake on the second page and abandon it entirely. Or instead of writing a blog post I decide that just one more static site generator and it'll be perfect bro, I swear.
Maybe not. But maybe one more static site generator and it will be imperfect, and that's okay! I'm going to use this digital garden to learn how to sit with the discomfort of sharing something “unfinished”.
A place to meander
Some gardens, digital or otherwise, have been planned out from the start: well-pruned flower beds placed along a paved path, a bench with a perfect view of the pond. Not my garden. My garden is tucked away in the woods, paths twisting and turning, inviting you to explore. There are signposts, sure, but if you came here hoping to find something specific you might have to wander around for a while.
Nostalgia aside, part of the magic of the early Web was the sense of exploration. The idea that you could just follow links and see where they take you. It's not much, but I hope I can capture a small bit of that whimsy here.