From the Ground Up: In the Garden of What is That?

First blogged in 2010

When I was a wee little bit of a girl my father had the most luscious garden. It was filled with scrumptious delights like pole beans, eggplants and green tomatoes.

I can't recall, no matter how I try, him planting a single plant yet they were there each summer springing up mysteriously for him to nurture. He would wile hours away in his denim cut off shorts, sans shirt, stepping cautiously in his dirty old sneakers while yanking random spouts from amidst the rows. There were times I would help him pluck the delicious tidbits from the vines, only after he approved their ripeness first.

Once we moved from our magical home in the country to a smaller lot in a suburban neighborhood, the edible garden faded to a memory. He kept his rose gardens and exquisite landscaping. I grew to my angst driven tween/teen years and didn't dwell on the missing garden until years later.

When I had my son I decided I wanted to grow something, other than him. Apartments are not ideal locations for the joy of gardening but I bought pots, filled them with Miracle Grow soil and bought little 4" pots of various herbs. To my delight, they grew and to my surprise I was good at it. I smiled when I saw the breeze flit the Fernleaf Dill around on the fire escape. I closed my eyes to relish the aroma of the Italian Basil wafted through the windows.

With each apartment upgrade, I added something to the "garden". When we acquired a balcony, I added a pot of tomatoes and peppers. Hub and son aren't particularly fond of tomatoes but I did it because I could. They never tasted so sweet.

When we bought the house I vowed to have the garden of my memory. I chose a corner of the yard, and without research I did what I thought I needed to do. I tilled the soil, not removing the sod first. I planted, without adding a healthy topsoil or compost. I now hang my head in shame at my naivete.

It was only after I saw the pathetic sprouts that I started looking into what it would take to save the not-a-garden. The discovery that our area was once a lake bed and the soil is predominantly clay saddened me. We had beans enough for a meal and most all else died or was nibbled away by bunnies. My heart sank as I admitted defeat.

I allowed that little plot to grow coarse patches of grass and examined an existing (and out of control) plant bed around the deck. Once mulched with red stones (SCREAM of horror!!!) I cleared it out as best as I could and there I planted 4" Sage, Peppermint, Lemon Balm, Chives and English Lavender purchased at the local home and garden store. I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.
It's been 3 years and they are truly marvels, growing year after year, almost out of control, which has lead to a battle of a different nature. More on that later.

Out of fear of disappointment, I stuck to pots year after year. They graced a set of stairs on one side of our deck that we don't use. They produce small bits and are wonderful. Still, the niggling desire for a real garden, for working in the earth with my hands, for that magical garden of my childhood has been there digging under my skin and poking at tender places until finally, this year, I gave in.

We had an unusual snap of warm weather very early this year. If Mother Nature herself sent a memo with the words "bitch slap" written on it, it couldn't have been more perfect. This was my time, my year and I intend to seize it.

I went to the lawn and garden store with the determination of getting dwarf/mini fruit trees. I read and researched and decided to battle the bunnies with a raised garden. Blueberries that had previously been suffering from the clay have been transplanted. Gardening sites (that I found on the tags of my trees) have been book marked. Shovels, trowels, sunscreen and all manner of tools have been dusted off. I have even looked into proper ways to attack my nemesis, the clay garden.
With a gritty determination, I set out to be victorious!

I started seeds in trays and little plastic greenhouses on our sunporch. I screwed, hammered, dug, and humiliated myself in front of the neighborhood in attempts to clear beds. Raised gardens were built and I figure out the perfect growing locations for everything.

I've cut myself open, given myself blisters. I've been sunburned, bit, slapped by a shovel in the face resulting in a fat lip, gotten dirt in my eye and some how up my nose, twisted my back and aggravated my tendonitis. It was an absolutely exquisite experience.

The transformation alone, which is not yet done, has been inspiring. The more I do, the more I want to do. One project inspires another, a never ending project.

The entire process is invigorating. Pressing tiny little tan specks into the soil and waiting anxiously to see if it will sprout, and what it will look like when it does. Seeing the garden transform from plots of grass to something that I can feed my family with. The heady scent and cool feeling of freshly turned earth. A passion has been awakened in me.

I can not wait for a harvest, to pull into this venture another love of mine...cooking.

Imagine the sublime joy that will be knowing, from start to finish, I created that dish. I planted the seeds and nurtured them to give me their hard grown fruits. Knowing that I plucked those morsels, cleaned and prepped them and turned them into something delicious to nourish my loved ones.

There is a deep, primal satisfaction in just envisioning this process unfold, so much so that I can hardly contain my excitement in making it come true.