When I was a kid, my father always kept a vegetable garden and I always helped. For nearly eighteen years of my life, I dug my fingers in the dirt, got seeds stuck to my hands, let mud mush between my toes, and plucked weeds out with my fingers. It was wonderful. I lived for spring when we would go to the nursery and pick out flowers and large bags of specially blended topsoil. So when I moved out of my father’s house and into another one, you can imagine my dismay at the reality of not being able to have a garden.
But I couldn’t just not have a garden. I also didn’t have a flower box, a pot for herbs, a bucket for tomatoes, or anything else. I was living in my aunt’s spare bedroom and did not have access to these things. I did help her with her flowers and bushes, but she didn’t plant things nearly to the extent my father did. Flowers are nice, but there’s a certain satisfaction one gets when food is harvested from a plant you’ve cared for.
When I moved from there to my own apartment, it was the same. There was one incident where I tried to grow bucket tomatoes, but it didn’t work out. I did live in a rental house where I tried to grow some peppers and other things, but the poison ivy ate them up. Oh, and houseplants! I am a houseplant murderer. I know, it doesn’t makes sense, but that’s how it goes.
And so it went for quite some time, until now. Now I own my very own home, equipped with my very own yard and my very own perfect spot for planting. It has been nearly fourteen years since I’ve been able to do outdoor planting, so I’m still sort of a gardening noob. But fourteen years ago I had magical powers that made outdoor plants thrive. I guess we’ll find out if I still have them. Wish me luck!
