When I was a kid, we had a big garden at the first house where we lived in Yakima–corn, peppers, cucumbers, beans, tomatoes, and potatoes (probably more things than that, but that’s what I remember). At six, my job was to smoosh the potato bug larvae on the backs of the potato plant leaves and then flick the mature bugs into a bucket of soapy water. And I also had to get the tomato worms off the tomato plants into that same bucket of soapy water. These are the things that build character, yes? We never really had a big garden after that.
Our family split apart. Mom lived in apartments. Dad lived in rentals. When we moved to Ohio, we lived basically in college housing apartments for about four years before getting the house in Wonder Hills. Southeastern Ohio soil is essentially red clay. We had a flower garden and that’s about it. My sister and her husband have always had a beautiful vegetable garden at their home. My Auntie Lila has an oasis of flowers everywhere she’s lived. I remember fondly her place in Stanfield that always seemed magical. My Grandpa Moore had the most epic garden, one of legends–biggest and best everything. Trust me this is not hyperbole. Straight facts, folks. What I’m trying to say is that I’ve had intermittent, but intense relationships with gardens until moving to Walla Walla.
A little while into our courtship, I asked Bryan if we could rototill his backyard and plant a garden. The look on his face was the closest to apoplexy I’d ever seen. I’m taking that as a no. HA! I’m sure I’ve told this story before, but it makes me chuckle and is worth the retelling. I negotiated ONE jalapeno pepper plant and ONE dill plant. I’ll have you know I’ve had dill volunteer every summer since. Oh yeah, and over the course of our time together, Bryan built me five raised beds.
This evening as I was watering, I looked at all of those raised beds full of flowers, tomatoes, peppers, and potatoes and smiled. This garden is a love letter from him to me, and from me to him and anyone who I can share it with. I harvested the red potatoes that volunteered this year. I sprayed them off, brought them in and used the soft-bristled scrubber to clean them. Here they are drying on a towel–potatoes as a love letter.
Bryan and I used to chat about people who were goal-oriented versus people who were process-oriented. There are those who bury the needle one way or the other. I used to think I was solely goal-oriented. The rototilling request kind of emphasizes that point, but I have become increasingly appreciative of the process. The garden has taught me that. Tending a home by myself teaches me that. Change is the constant. The “ta-da” is very short-lived; it’s what comes before, after, and during that matters most.
Feryl Files 