I came home today just exhausted and I promptly fell asleep
for 90 minutes—got up and looked around and saw everything I still needed to do—and
went outside to check on the garden.
Granted I physically didn’t feel better but as I was working on taming
my spaghetti squash and training my cucumbers (or are they melon, I forgot
where I planted them ) ) I started thinking about the therapeutic use of
gardening—and how just caring for the plants brought me to a place of peace,
gave me purpose without stressing me out and for a while I forgot about my
physical pain.
I picked basil, parsley,
arugula, lettuce and tomatoes—
My tomatoes may not be perfect and beautiful but like every human it is what is on the inside that is what is truly important - and these are delicious!
I call this my Basil Parsley Bouquet- there is nothing more wonderful then the smell of freshly cut basil and parsley--I love the purple basil contrast with the green :)
I accidentally pulled up one of my potato shoots
and to my surprise there was a tiny potato attached—smaller than a grape tomato. Since it was in my straw bale garden it was
clean, dirt free and after taking a picture, I ate it—a tiny raw potato that was so
delightful
Nearly every morning and evening I go outside, sometimes I
work on the garden, water it, and sometimes I just take a survey of what’s
going on—
Like noticing that tomatoes in my straw bale garden don’t have the
flower rot or cracking issue that the ones in my traditional raised bed
have.
I marvel at how well my potatoes
are growing in the straw—and I wonder why I am so attached to growing potatoes—I’ve
had 2 years of failed attempts. And the corn—I can’t even eat it because I’m
allergic to it but I have been fighting off rabbits and birds to get the few
standing stalks that I have and they are hearty and healthy----
Why I wonder—why do I do these things—??
In my heart I do
know why—it is in my blood, my heritage, my genetic memory as well as my
conscious one.
My father’s garden----I remember it SO well…it spanned an
acre and we spent so much time there—planting, weeding, harvesting—row after
row of tomatoes, peas, beans, peppers, squash---the cantaloupe and watermelon
never did well for him—maybe that’s why I’m trying so hard.
My Mom would can quarts and quarts of plum
tomatoes, sweet banana peppers, watermelon rind pickles, pickles—sweet, dill...
Refrigerator pickles----you name it….and the potatoes..
If my memory serves me correctly, the new potatoes were
ready around the 4th of July—and they were always so amazingly
good---I associate the 4th of July with New potatoes all the time—our
town had a parade on the 4th and new potatoes--—it makes
me smile thinking about Triangle park, the garden, my Dad, the times I spent (
often begrudgingly at the time—for as a child on summer vacation, who wants to weed and
plant and harvest?!)
My mom taught me how
to can and I still think that those are the best veggies ever—homemade plain
sauce from home canned plum tomatoes, fresh basal, parsley and onions—can’t be
beat. I can still see the shelves in the
basement with rows upon rows of canned goods—that allowed us to have amazing
fresh tasting foods in the middle of the NJ winters.
Corn—fresh Jersey Sweet Corn—in my 11th and 12th
year, my Dad decided to plant acres of corn—his friend down the street had a
tractor and a seed planter—those years I learned how to drive that green John
Deere and keep the hopper on the seeder full—back then I had no clue I was
allergic to corn—there is nothing more sweet then a fresh picked ear of Silver
Queen raw… Summer days spent on the back of my father’s pickup truck after
picking corn at Englishtown Auction selling a baker’s dozen for a buck….
All this was swimming through my head as I was lovingly
taming my tomato plants, tying them up to keep the green tomatoes up off the
ground and less easy fodder for bugs---
I kept staring at my potatoes—and I
remembered—it’s not that I DON’T remember things but when you are looking at
your 50th year on earth, some things are filed away a little deeper
because you don’t use it as often. As if
it were yesterday I had this vision of a potato field, row up on row of green
potatoes, the huge irrigators and I was in NJ at my great grandfather’s
home. “Bampop” was a potato farmer—although
the planting that I saw at this time were not his doing—he had farmed that land—I
remember my mother telling stories of going to her Gram’s house—of her great
grandparents’ home nearby—my memory is so faded, but it is just a good
feeling---I have pictures in boxes of my Grammie, Delta Duncan McCarty and her
sister Carol Duncan Pierson as kids…thinking about all that life and history that
is back in NJ as I stand in front of my miniscule in comparison garden in
Arizona…. I’ve read historical books on the history of Monroe and Cranbury just
to get a glimpse of my family line and history—
All this came up tonight because of my garden…So many people
in my life are now gone forever…their memories alive in my heart and mind--
I love my Garden--because it is more than "just" a garden....it is part of my life history ~JmF~ July 5, 2013
This is my original raised bed garden which has served me well since last year and my wonderful husband expanded it for me so it's now twice as big---
Another View
I love this little plant--it is a Rutgers Tomato plant that the rabbits had chewed down to the stem and it has rebounded itself and has flowers now :)
A perfectly green tomato, no blossom rot, no cracks, can't wait until it's red! If you haven't researched straw bale gardens, they are amazing! You can garden anywhere!
Another view of my tomato plants going wild :)