In the Garden of Eating
After many months of studying Square foot gardening, I took a day off last week and planted my vegetable garden. The author of this book, Mel Bartholomew, promised me via the subtitle that his methods are a new way of gardening in less space with less work. I'd better get at least a tomato out of the whole thing. I spent 6 hours getting this plot of ground planted, not counting the hours we put in last fall digging up the sod and transplanting daylillies.
Bella pleaded with me to let her help. I let her use her digging skills and she pulled up dead roots with joyful abandon. She was absolutely covered in mud and loved every minute of it.
I could hardly move by the end of the day, and it made me think about a movie I watched recently: Once upon a time when we were colored. It's a story about an African-American sharecropper family in the segregation-era south, and at one point, the narrator talks about the expectations placed on children. "As soon as a child could walk, he was expected to help in the fields." I can't imagine children (especially mine) picking cotton for 12 hours a day, but they did it. I guess any kind of complaint was answered with a slap.
Farm work is so hard. My great-grandfather had a farm in West Texas, and my mother tells magical stories of her visits there, riding along on the tractor, fishing for tarantulas with string and a bit of chewing gum, making mud pies. Grandpa V. grew cotton and, from what I understand, it was a constant struggle to keep everything from burning up in the hot Texas summer. The farm wore him out, and he finally sold it after his wife died. The man I remember was tall, gray, and tired -- always napping in an easy chair.
I'm primarily a flower gardener, and my decision this year to put in vegetables came after years of teasing by my father. "You can't eat a flower," he'd say every spring when he and my mother came over to see the garden in full bloom. No matter how gorgeous it looked, he'd only criticize.
That's my dad.
So this year, I thought I'd see how well I could do. I read about vegetables all winter, and I think I know about as much as I'm going to know. It seems a little complicated, at least according to all the books, with their pH balanced soil, fertilizing requirements, and harvesting schedules. My dad, who helped his mother on their own family farm, assured me there was nothing to it. "Just put the seeds in the ground and they'll grow."
They'd better.
5 comments:
OH! But you can eat a flower! I ate a marigold once. And believe it or not it was delicious! It had a bold flavor to go with color.
I had a dog once that gloried in pansies. Not only were my own not safe but my dear puppy snatched a neighbor's tray of pansies. She did it with such glee and pure abandon it was hard to reprimand her. Maybe this year I'll try a pansy or two. :-)
pastgrace
The best of luck to you. I remember days of planting peas, butterbeans, corn, okra, squash, watermelon and anything else my father thought we needed to grow. He still obsesses about his garden every year. Last year, he had the nerve to ask me if I was going to shell some peas, as if I hadn't done enough while growing up!
Let us know how the harvest goes.
My dad grew a veggie garden a couple of summer's ago in the lot right next to our house. It was really weird to see from the street. I'm sure the neighbors in the ghetto thought we were crazy. He lives by that "just put the seeds in the ground and they'll grow" bit. It worked for him, but I'm positive it wouldn't work for me.
I'll be putting up pictures soon. of the apartment and carpet in all is blue glory. No bruises though, its on my inner thigh, not a photogenic place. :)
I like the way you write. It is obvious that you have a journalistic/creative writing background. I hate vegetables. May the devil take all their infernal souls. ;)
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