Every year it’s the same situation. We (my wife) meticulously plan our garden in the early spring with a blueprint of exactly what ‘crops’ will go where, how many plants will we tend, how much bigger will our agrarian experiment be? This is typically followed by a request that I move the garden fence to accommodate our expanded bounty. In the last 3 years we have moved from 6x6ft of deck boxes, to a deer fenced & gated 10x16 plot and this year to 16x20ft. I rototill, we pay the kids to pick up all the rocks, I buy and install more fence, Shawna acquires additional irrigation and plant support gadgets (ie the newest advancements in tomato lattice) we work in the proper ground nutrients, and we are off to the very gradual and anticipatory races. For the first month, we (my wife) rigorously defends are fragile ecosystem by smiting any unwanted insects, molds, spores or grubs by creating an organically responsible, inhospitable environment specifically formulated for our unwanted guests. Various powders, sprays and tactics are deployed in the cleansing and purging process. During the dog days of summer, we irrigate our moisture retaining bed of straw mulch with leaker hoses and create the magic of rain for our precious plants with various elevated sprinklers.
When the first delightful specimens are ready for consumption, there is great merriment. We don’t even wait to bring them in the house, but eat them right of the vine, whether it be tomato, bean, or pea.
Here’s the kicker, when the garden finally comes into full harvest…there’s no time to harvest it. Pound upon pound of tomato lie on the ground, like a post apocalyptic tomato wasteland. The green onions are prehistoric in their size, having long passed their ideal point of ‘plucking’. The squash and zucchini have grown wildly in the ghetto of our garden, attempting to jump the fence and escape their abandonment. All the energy, preparation and dreams of spring have been swallowed up by a busy summer and a busier fall.
I watch the garden withering, and think of all the wasted tomatoes we won’t be eating. I will wince at every jar of tomato sauce and every can of diced tomatoes we buy this winter. Perhaps I will stage a silent rebellion… Only Alfredo sauce for me this winter, in memory of our fallen fruit.
What is the lesson from all this? Ideas are exciting. The beginning of the journey is filled with anticipation and wonder…the unknown. We nurture and foster the fragile beginnings of our idea to make sure our dream doesn’t perish to soon. Finishing is another story, however. It can be tiring, difficult, and anti- climactic. My wife is a great starter, while I am a great finisher. That should be a great combination (and it usually is). Our only problem is….she doesn’t start the things that I want to finish, and I don’t like to finish the things she starts. It makes me think about the importance of knowing our strengths and weaknesses, and being open about where we need help before we start down a path. And then…the most difficult part, acknowledging and discussing our need with others. Giving ourselves a role we can actually fulfill, committing to it, and then supporting others in the role they have committed to (vs the role we assume they should have.)
I am going to think about how we tend our garden. I think there’s still some tomatoes out there I can save. A couple of extra spaghetti dinners before the ‘alfredo rebellion’ of 2010 launches.
