Growing Things

So may people ask me about our garden. My musings have planted it in the imaginations of quite a few folks and seemingly given me far more of a reputation as a gardener than I will ever deserve. I have no more skill or expertise than when we started this whole thing a year ago. Reading gardening books fills me with trepidation. So much could go wrong. The world is filled with predators. Understanding soil and its relation to growing things takes nothing short of a doctorate in chemistry. Quite frankly, I have little time to read anything except Dr. Seuss, and when I do find a moment, complicated discussions on the pH of dirt and when to put netting over my plants to avoid cabbage worm is more then I can handle.

And so we come to this year's project. Year two of a garden is almost more overwhelming than year one. Last year, we had just a patch of grass, and while fencing it in, rototilling, picking rocks and all the rest were no small task, it was work filled with fantasy and unlimited imagination. This year's work started with patching up what remained of the dream. Deer topped the fence over the winter. Landscape fabric lay about in heaps. A determined patch of parsley struggled for its life amongst the weeds. And then there were the weeds. Oh wait, and then there were the rocks. Surely there were not so many rocks last fall? Steve patched up the fence, repaired the gate and rototilled again. And then the garden sat. It has been a cruel spring. One day so hot I dream of a mango grove. The next, I resolve we may never plant - may never get through that one last frost. So while our living room window is a virtual greenhouse, while a few rows of peas and lettuce and bok choy are struggling outside against our neglect, getting to the garden has been tough.

Alex and I headed out on Saturday. The trick, I have discovered, is to lure Alex into the garden and quickly lock the gate before telling him that it is still too early to plant. The boy loves to grow things. The rock picking and wedding are not his cup of tea any more then a fine chef wants to wash the dishes or clean the produce. He was hot. His head hurt. His arms too weak. His thirst was too great. I made some sort of Confucius-like statement one might find in a fortune cookie or on the tag of a tea bag. It fell on ears deafened by complaints. "I can make a bigger pile of rocks then you," I said. And he was off an running, piling rocks and pulling weeds like a champion.

And now the garden is ready. Ready for Memorial Day, the Day of the Great Planting. The day after which, there is to be no frost, although we all know that there will be. There will be at least a night or two or three that I tuck my children into bed and then run to the garden, carefully covering the fledgling plants with sheets and blankets and towels. And I will sleep easier those nights, somewhat sure that no deer will polish off our growing hopes and dreams as a single midnight snack.

We added to our collection of soon-to-be planted things today. In our window grows a random collection of basil and tomatoes, pumpkins and gourds, morning glories and sun flowers, beans and peas. Cate and Alex each have their own tray. We planted the seeds together, and despite my attempts at organization, over eager chaos prevailed and while I can pick out the tomatoes and the basil, we can't decide just what leaves are squash and which are gourds and which are pumpkins. I struggle against the need for neat little rows - pumpkins, here. Butternut squash, there. And then remind myself that life is nothing if not a grand surprise.

There was a garden festival at Alex's school today - a small celebration of Kid Garden - the wonderful space that has been created just outside his classroom window. Kid Garden is exactly what I want for my kids - a beautiful space for them to work and grow. The food it produces will be used in the school cafeteria when school is in session and will go to the food bank during the summer months. Kids have the option of helping out in the garden during recess and families will help care for it when school closes for the season. Alex loves Kid Garden.

As we were leaving today, he went searching for his wallet. The wallet is covered in surf boards, sent to him by our friend who lives in Hawaii. It is stuffed with one dollar bills he has collected from cards my grandmother has mailed to him. He never spends his money. Nothing is ever worthy of his money. But when he heard the festival included a plant sale, he went in search, and with four of his own dollars, bought himself a tomato plant and a butternut squash seedling and a piece of pumpkin bread. It is funny how it is in the little things we see our success as parents. There are so many moments to question our shortcomings. And then there is the moment when your child beams with pride - he spent his own savings for two delicate little plants.They are more to him then any plastic gadget. And the mother's heart in me sends out a warning to any deer or rabbits or bugs or frosty nights that might have other plans for these fragile growing things - Alex, his tomato, his squash.

It is Cate who has fine tuned her gardening skills the most this year. Every place she goes, she notices something new poking out of the dirt. "It's popping up!" she shouts with great enthusiasm be it flower or weed. The girl who shuddered and cried when her barefoot touched the sand now scoops up worms and spends ten minutes patiently digging a hole in one spot for a gladiola bulb or an iris. She has no emotional attachment to these growing things - not yet. But she makes sure to water her seeds and turn her plants as they face the sun.

And so we count the days until Memorial Day.

A butternut squash from last year's garden still sits on our counter top. "Can you BELIEVE we GREW that?" Alex asks whenever his eyes fall upon it. And the answer is a surprising yes. Without the how-to books, this gardening stuff is all faith and dreams and imagination. And that is stuff you just have to believe in.