Last year I moved into my home full of dreams of growing a garden like my grandpa. He had an amazing green thumb. He's the only one I know who could grow a full veggie garden in a postage stamp city backyard. When he retired he returned to his country roots and really spread out. He raised rabbits, picked wild blackberries by the five gallon buckets, and had the best birdhouse gourds. When he passed his garden was unbelieveable. It was like he was still there with us while we picked tomatoes, corn, and watermelons. I really miss him. All us grandkids were able to choose something to remember him by and as the oldest I got first pick. I thought long and hard. So many choices. Do I take a plaid shirt he was famous for? Maybe the antique lighter collection. Perhaps I ask for his signature trucker hat. No, I got it. The perfect choice. Our best shared moments on the tractor, in the garden, tending the rabbits, at the ranch, all of my best memories included his white cowboy hat. That was it. Final answer. My grandma quickly obliged and I chershed that old stained work hat. When we had a house fire in my teens it suffered some smoke damage but was still wearable. Funny thing is grandpa used to work in a meat packing smokehouse. After the fire, it kinda smelled a little more like him.
When I got married my husband found my treasure and quickly tried it on. He never met grandpa but instantly coveted his signature piece. I freaked out like a kid who lost his lollipop. There was no way he was going to be allowed to wear that hat. He was fortunate I love him with all my heart or he would be missing a limb. I placed it back in the top of my closet safely tucked away for the perfect moment. That moment came almost ten years later when we moved into this house. Sometimes I pull it out and try it on. I have on occasion worn it when I ride my john deere mower. It's not the big kubota tractor out on the back 40 collecting rocks but it still feels good. Soon after moving in I ripped out the large hedge surrounding the house much to the horror of my mother-in-law. I installed a micro sprinkler system and dropped in tomatoes, cabbage, peppers of all the hot varieties and collard greens. I was going to start small and work my way up.
I am the first house on our road which is a loop so everyone has to drive by my house, coming or going. The neighbors were curious about the new young couple at the end of the street. They watched our every move and scoured our garbage pile every Friday looking for treasures and clues. What were those young people doing? When the annual neighborhood bonfire rolled around I was too ill to attend. My husband walked down the road to make an appearance. He was ambushed by those who wanted to talk about our veggies. Never before had they seen such beautiful cabbage. My tomato plant was over six feet tall, astonishing. The husbands envied such a capable wife. She cooks, cleans, decorates, mows and gardens? The wives cringed at the thought of "keeping up". His report was flattering and terrifying all at the same time. I knew they were curious about us, they all drive by slower than a turtle. I suddenly felt under glass. How could I top my harvest next year?
I had a genius plan. I convinced my husband we needed to remove a 30 by 100 foot (give or take a few feet) area of lawn to put in its place a veggie garden. A garden grandpa would be proud of. I decided plants would be too expensive so I went to the Walmart and bought $200 worth of $1.00 seed packs. I was gonna go BIG. I charted a plan for weeks. I bought those clever little dirt pods they sell to start your plants. I had cookie sheets full of them covering my back deck. I planted 100 kernels of corn. Six different kinds of tomatoes, the more the merrier. Squash, been there done that. Unfortunately one night I left the bag of seeds on the back porch and a torrential rainstorm blew thru. All the packs got wet. That isn't a problem unless it is warm and your seeds sprout. Sprout they did. I had no choice but to frantically plant everything. My well laid out plan went out the window. I carefully carved out perfect rows and planted every last seed. I said a prayer and let God make it grow.
Some things were great. My cow peas, green beans, purple beans and mamoth jalapenos were awesome. We ate, my parents ate, his parents ate, and anyone else I could give them to ate of our harvest. The tomatoes gave their best but I smashed too many in too close together. They fell short of last years giant. The squash were immense and we found 101 ways to cook green, yellow and patty pan squash. Most of my veggies initially showed great promise but flopped in the end. I planted birdhouse gourds expecting to reap a bountiful harvest of giant gourds. I got two tiny ones, barely big enough for humming birds before the vines were spent. My lettuce was bitter. The corn never matured. The watermelons and canteloupe never produced. I scratched my head in disbelief. What went wrong?
One of my neigbors is a little old man who must drive by 100 times a day. I don't know where he goes but he seems to have a lot to do. Every time he sees me in the yard he waves and tips his "Gilligan" hat. One day he decided to stop and talk. It turns out his Native American name is White Buffalo. He is a retired engineer and he has been watching me trying to garden. He imparted his wisdom to my husband and me about the units of energy the sun emits and how many joules it takes for corn to grow and mature. My eyes glazed over and although I know he was speaking english I swear it was Chinese. I finally figured out he was telling me that I was doing it all wrong. Apparently my panic over wilting plants was what was killing them. Evidently you aren't supposed to water in the middle of the day. It turns out I was quite litterally steaming my corn to death. Huh. Who knew? He suggested varieties that would be more successfull in our area and volunteered to help the next time I decided to try to grow corn. Humbled I thanked him and returned to my chores.
I put out a scarecrow to keep out the hordes of squirrels that inhabit the giant oaks on my property. My niece and nephew think he's the coolest. In the end I think the garden has been a colossal failure this year. Some good things have come. I don't think you learn anything if you have it too easy. We learn best from failure rather than success. This summer I have learned a lot. I know now I need to start small and work my way up. I can't rush success. I know where to put what next year seeing what areas have more sun or shade. I also learned you can't change nature. I had a small pumpkin and decorative gourds over the holidays on my dining table. When it was time to get rid of them I procrastinated. They sat on my back deck until the smell of them decomposing was unbearable. I tossed them off the deck hoping the birds and squirrels would take care of the mess for me. Instead they grew into the most beautiful plants in my whole yard. A stray calabasa seed, probably from naughty squirrels getting into my trash, grew into a huge vine and all of them are producing fruit. I never intended to plant them. I never even covered the seeds with dirt. I never watered them. I didn't even remember they were out there. Yet, all the while they grew and I cherish them every day.
As I put my chickens to bed each night I walk thru the pumpkin patch and remember the goods times gone by. Working in the garden with my grandpa. Eating strawberries straight from the plant. Having stained fingers from eating blackberries until I could pop. Wondering if I was going to grow a watermelon in my belly like grandpa said I would if I swallowed a seed. I learned this year to respect the experience of those before me and to cherish the lost art of farming your own food. It's hard work but enjoyable. In the end, I guess I did get a garden my grandpa would be proud of, I just didn't plant it myself.
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