After many failings in growing plants indoors, which I can only hope was due to lack of sunlight or over-watering, my first garden is ready to bear fruit. Too many, and yet not enough hours were spent re-grading the backyard, constructing raised beds, and sifting soil to create what seems to be a decent home for vegetables to grow. The next set of beds will be more difficult, with more layers of crushed stone and larger roots to cut through, but should be worth it in the end.
Only cursorily like watching a child grow, watching these plants start from seed or seedling and slowly grow to be mature has been a joy. Checking on the well being of the plants constantly in their early days, and giving them physical support as needed. Soon, the tomatoes will turn red, the eggplant blossoms will bear fruit, and the beans will dangle from the vines. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like having a garden, and finds the growing process at least slightly addictive. I think I have caught the bug, especially since the plants aren’t dying on me.
Maybe it’s the economy, or an unconscious trend, but I’ve been hearing about more people and groups that are using a bit of land to grow their own food. Michelle Obama is only part of that trend, not the instigator. So maybe it’s a subtle backlash to all the newspaper articles asking kids where the Thanksgiving turkey comes from (answer: the store/freezer). Knowing where your food physically came from, not just the brand name, has a certain appeal. You are what you eat, even if that is dirt you used to play kickball on. And I take heart from knowing that some of who I am, literally comes from my own back yard.