I was 11 when I realized the magnificence of a garden. My dad's neighbor's were retired, and they had a garden that took up their whole back yard. It was entrancing, really, to stare across the fence at it. There was everything from corn to potatoes, onions and tomatoes, and it was all grown organically. We never spoke much, me and them, but one day the elder gentleman needed help weeding, and I wanted to see their garden up close, so over the fence I went.
It was rewarding work, to feel the earth between my fingers as they sought for dandelions and random stray plants that didn't belong. We worked for hours, meticulously grooming through the rows, as he taught me about (and let me sample) his garden. First were the cucumbers, almost unrecognizable from the ones lined up, so straight and perfect in the produce section. I hadn't realized they could grow any way but straight, or that they grew laying in the dirt like that. This row we were working on were different lettuces (which I recognized) and chard, which I'd never known existed. It's neon colored stalks and large green leaves were absolutely beautiful, but when I tried a little piece it seemed quite sour. Bitter when it's raw, he says, best to cook it in butter. Helps us old folk not bruise up so bad, you see?
Over here was broccoli, hiding behind it's giant leaves. Green beans and sugar snap peas climbed a back fence and through their corn with untrained joy. A plant will never be sweeter than it is the moment it's picked, and fresh snap peas are just the best! There were the last raspberries and strawberries of the season, and they were perfect, too. Did you know strawberries grown at home are smaller, softer, and red all the way through? They don't sell strawberries like this at Safeway, and with each bite, if I wasn't careful, juice would run down my chin.
The sun's going down, and the garden is pretty well weeded. C'mon, kid, only one row left. We're doing good, he says it would've taken him all weekend to do this. I'm proud, to be only 11, and to have been such a big help. The last row is summer squash and there are yellow ones and green ones, Zucchini, he says, when I ask if it's a cucumber. We work our way down the row, picking out grass here, other weeds there. We're near the end of the row and we're tired now, it's been a long afternoon. Here, kid. Look at this. He's got one that's been growing like wildfire, and it must be five pounds if it's an ounce. I've never seen a vegetable so big, and I've never wanted one so badly. He wrestles it off the vine and hands it to me, saying You'd better learn how to cook with that, it's no good raw. My eyes dance as I think of the possibilities. I've just started cooking often, and there is so much to learn.
The dirt is packed under my nails, in my hair, on my nose and on my knees as I head home that night, tired, but full of berries and vegetables. I carry my prize, and as I walk in the door my dad exclaims it's the biggest zucchini he's ever seen, and that it was very nice of me to help the neighbors. I smile, then, and tell him I'll just have to make a lot of zucchini bread then (something I'd never had before, but had been wanting to try) and that I wouldn't have traded that afternoon for the world.
It was rewarding work, to feel the earth between my fingers as they sought for dandelions and random stray plants that didn't belong. We worked for hours, meticulously grooming through the rows, as he taught me about (and let me sample) his garden. First were the cucumbers, almost unrecognizable from the ones lined up, so straight and perfect in the produce section. I hadn't realized they could grow any way but straight, or that they grew laying in the dirt like that. This row we were working on were different lettuces (which I recognized) and chard, which I'd never known existed. It's neon colored stalks and large green leaves were absolutely beautiful, but when I tried a little piece it seemed quite sour. Bitter when it's raw, he says, best to cook it in butter. Helps us old folk not bruise up so bad, you see?
Over here was broccoli, hiding behind it's giant leaves. Green beans and sugar snap peas climbed a back fence and through their corn with untrained joy. A plant will never be sweeter than it is the moment it's picked, and fresh snap peas are just the best! There were the last raspberries and strawberries of the season, and they were perfect, too. Did you know strawberries grown at home are smaller, softer, and red all the way through? They don't sell strawberries like this at Safeway, and with each bite, if I wasn't careful, juice would run down my chin.
The sun's going down, and the garden is pretty well weeded. C'mon, kid, only one row left. We're doing good, he says it would've taken him all weekend to do this. I'm proud, to be only 11, and to have been such a big help. The last row is summer squash and there are yellow ones and green ones, Zucchini, he says, when I ask if it's a cucumber. We work our way down the row, picking out grass here, other weeds there. We're near the end of the row and we're tired now, it's been a long afternoon. Here, kid. Look at this. He's got one that's been growing like wildfire, and it must be five pounds if it's an ounce. I've never seen a vegetable so big, and I've never wanted one so badly. He wrestles it off the vine and hands it to me, saying You'd better learn how to cook with that, it's no good raw. My eyes dance as I think of the possibilities. I've just started cooking often, and there is so much to learn.
The dirt is packed under my nails, in my hair, on my nose and on my knees as I head home that night, tired, but full of berries and vegetables. I carry my prize, and as I walk in the door my dad exclaims it's the biggest zucchini he's ever seen, and that it was very nice of me to help the neighbors. I smile, then, and tell him I'll just have to make a lot of zucchini bread then (something I'd never had before, but had been wanting to try) and that I wouldn't have traded that afternoon for the world.
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