I grew up in a gardening family.
My dad tilled a vast swatch of rich brown earth that he planted carefully in rows straight as an arrow. My mom put up all sorts of canned goods in big mason jars.
With a farmer’s heart, the back-to-the-land ethos of the 1970s, and a family history built on the Victory Garden philosophy of World War II and the scrappy rural reality that “we can eat because we have the food we grew,” we had lots of reasons to put up a big garden.
Over time our gardens got a little smaller. Food in the grocery store was so cheap that putting up jars of canning in the summer heat didn’t seem to make quite as much financial sense.
Still, I have so many good memories of our home-canned foods.
There were the halved pears to which my mom would add a cinnamon stick and a drop of food coloring (which totally worked — we loved our red or green pears).
We had pickled beets. We had carrots and string beans. We’d boil, mash and put up apple sauce. Berries were pureed and put into the dehydrator as fruit leather.
And we’d eat lots of fresh food as well, of course. We’d have french chard throughout the year, pressure cooked and served in vinegar. During the height of summer we’d have succeeding plantings of sugar snap peas, which were a delightful treat.
I aspire to that kind of gardening and home food production, but my thumb isn’t as green as I’d like.
This year my garden is the best it’s ever been, which sadly isn’t saying that much. I’ve eaten some radishes and salad greens. My corn was almost knee-high by the Fourth of July. I have a few squash that have put on their showy yellow flowers. My lone cherry tomato plant, while not yet an imposing bush, is holding on. I’m getting a kick out of my little garlic plants, which I planted at exactly the wrong time of year after they sprouted enthusiastically in the kitchen last month.
I’ve gotten a few strawberries. My blueberries in the shade are showing signs of future harvest, and the grapes I didn’t get around to pruning are looking like they’ll produce a bumper crop.
And one of my main weeds, lambsquarter, is edible. The most food I’ve eaten from my garden this year are those weeds that I’m pulling out from my carrot patch.
And while we do some dehydrating and freezing of produce, I’ve always felt bad that I’m not feeding my family year-round from our garden, or even producing much of a crop even in the middle of the growing season.
A few weeks ago I had a bit of a revelation.
While the food is obviously the main goal of a gardener, the bigger product is sustenance and good health.
There is a lot of garbage food out there that I can (and do) eat.
But when I’m in the garden, popping bits of lettuce, radish, strawberry or even edible weeds into my mouth, I’m eating healthy rather than snacking on whatever made it into my shopping cart and pantry.
And I’m getting out into the sun or dappled shade of my beautiful corner of God’s green earth.
And my kids all got plenty of experience in the garden, especially with my wife when they were young. So I think they might also have the kind of good memories that I cherish.
Getting outside and getting my hands dirty is a big part of a healthy life. The food is just icing on the carrot cake, so to speak.
And so, as I do my best to water and keep ahead of the weeds, my hope is growing like the little plants in my small patch of earth.
Even for a scrappy gardener in a scrappy garden, the work, like the harvest, is delicious.
Dad Joke of the Week
Today’s Dad Joke comes from a wonderful grandmother whom I had the pleasure to meet this week. Jean McCallister shared this:
Why can’t Christmas trees knit?
Because they keep dropping their needles!
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Brian Mittge is a community enthusiast who has written for The Chronicle since 2000 as a reporter, editor and columnist. He can be reached at brianmittge@hotmail.com.
