I dug out, added soil, carved out
rows, and neatly planted my first vegetable garden the year I turned nine. In
my memory, this plot of backyard covered acreage, but I know in reality it
couldn’t have eaten up much of the yard. I grew lettuce, green onions, tomatoes,
and two varieties of radishes. If I close my eyes, I can see the child I was
kneeling on the ground, worshipping Earth.
When we moved to Texas, my parents
delegated a larger garden for my passion. I added peppers, herbs, and even corn
to my crops. One year, I planted cucumbers along one section. That summer we
ate cucumbers with onions in vinegar, sugar and water. We ate them on
sandwiches and within salads. The bumper crop meant we gave them to our
neighbors and friends. My mother didn’t want to pickle them (she had extremely
limited pantry space), so we made cucumber ointments for our faces. I remember
slicing cucumbers into my bathwater!
Making a living competed with my
desire to garden; and as an adult, I shifted to herbs and native plants and flowers.
I haven’t grown much more that tomatoes in recent years. And I think a part of
me longs to sink my hands into rich soil again.
 |
| Flowers instead of veggies! |
In the year since my mother’s death,
I’ve toyed with the idea of toiling in a vegetable garden. In my mind, I’ve
carved out a huge section of our backyard and planted it to the brim with
thriving life. I imagine myself outside each day, watering and weeding. I can
actually feel my body kneeling in worship of the harvest.
This image seduces me.
But I’ll prepare no garden this
spring. I promised myself a year of doing less, of walking away from the “must
do” lists that I create for myself.
I grow a different garden this year.
One that allows me to dip into serendipity instead of structure. I hope to nurture
creativity and whim not bound by schedules or lists. In the end, I strive
cultivate a gentler “me” who’s not so driven to do more, but instead
slows down enough to enjoy more.
Once I’ve gathered my harvest of
contentment? Then I’ll plant a vegetable garden.
Copyright 2104 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
