As our closing date and the harvest approached last year, a sadness settled in. I would be leaving my garden before it came to fruition. We’d enlarged it the spring before we left, adding more and different plants. Carrots, green onions, cucumbers. At least my herbs would travel well in pots that could go from a home beside one backdoor to another.
But, I realized, the woman leaving this house probably packed a similar burden amidst her belongings. She’d left a vegetable garden even larger than our new and improved one. Hot peppers guarded the perimeter, mixed greens and a lone acorn squash hunkered down inside. A boatload of parsley and a few tomatoes. Though it was the tail-end of the season, we were able to reap the benefits of her labor the same way the man and woman who bought our house would ours.
I am not as adventurous a cultivator as the previous occupant. Nor as zealous a waterer apparently. And I don’t fertilize. BUT we’re still eating fresh green beans and have cucumbers coming out of our ears. I tried to capture the beautiful purple pattern of a lone green bean as I prepped dinner. Then I broke out a few beans with the idea that I’d dry them as seed for next year. That’s when things got crazy
Hey, why garden if it’s not fun!