Growing a Gardener

As a young child, I clearly remember my dad's love of tomato sandwiches, fresh off the vines in the back yard.  At one of our houses, the tomato cages were right outside my window, offering me the tantalizing and distinct smell of tomato vines wafting on the breeze into my room on late summer nights as I was drifting off to sleep.  And though I can remember picking the tomatoes and eating the tomatoes, I can't ever remember helping with planting or tending...

Current view from Oma & Opa's  (Their garden was to the right of the shed in the center of the picture.)

Also as a child, we would spend our summers at my grandparents house up on Bluff Mountain in northwestern North Carolina.  Looking out from their front porch (if you could pull your eyes away from the view that allowed you to see peaks in at least two states), you could see the half acre garden down the hill, next to the cherry tree.  Again, I can remember harvesting beans, corn, squash, potatoes, etc., but I can't ever remember weeding, planting, or any of the other 'unfun' stuff that leads to the harvest...  (I do remember the hard and fast rule, though:  you can take anything you want home with you, but you have to take an equal amount of squash.)

As a young adult, I worked at Farm & Wilderness Summer Camps in Vermont.  And while 'Farm' is the first word in the name, I worked on the waterfront, teaching boys to swim and paddle; I led hiking and canoeing trips throughout New England; I helped cook meals, build cabins, clear brush, build bonfires; and, again, I helped harvest for Food Day at the end of the summer when we would, to whatever extent was possible, only consume foods produced in the camps.  But I have very few memories of working on the farm actually tending the crops.

In college, even, I lived in a college-owned house called Farm House, but there was no farm during those years.  Somehow, I made it through the first three decades of life surrounded by farms, gardens, and individuals passionate about growing food without growing any myself.  It wasn't that I was avoiding it, mind you -- it just never occurred to me to take on this hobby or make it a habit.

Lighting set up, with worm bin and fan

That is until I moved to Ann Arbor and lived for several years with a Master Organic Gardener.  I shared responsibility for tending a Project Grow garden plot, first near Clague Middle School, then for two years in County Farm Park.  I learned how to start seeds indoors in February so they'd be ready to transplant outside in May, and why it's important to use a fan to strengthen the stems so they'll be hardy enough to weather the weather.  Instead of going into the garbage, we put food scraps in a worm bin, then two worm bins, to later use the compost as food for our vegetables.  And I was gradually turned into a gardener.

Year two of gardening at home...

Following the purchase of my house, I finally took control of my own garden: at first a four foot by six foot space clearly used for that purpose by some former resident of the house, but gradually taking up more and more of my back yard.  Gradually over the years, the original garden was increased to 5' x 12', another one foot by 15' section was added along a fence, a small 4' by 4' plot allowed for more planting, and two other small plots were converted from lawn to garden.  But this is Michigan, and the clay just a few inches down doesn't really do it for plants.  So this spring I took on the task of building raised beds.  Now all of the space I just mentioned has been augmented by two beds rising 12 inches above the grass (one 4' by 10' and another 4' by 5') and one bed half that tall measuring 5' by 5'.

...and the same view, two years later

This year's garden addition, complete with rich soil and fine mulch.

To cap it all off, I found a summer job through Growing Hope, an organization supporting community gardens and gardeners.  Now I water before I leave home; spend my day working in gardens and teaching others about local food, nutrition, and gardening; then go home to weed and tend to my own garden.

As I look back, I still can't understand how I made it so far in life without actually digging my hands into the earth.  But, as with so many aspects of my life, I don't think I ever really had a choice.  It was simply a matter of time before I succumbed to the currents swirling around me and allowed myself to be taken by the joy and satisfaction that comes from helping a tiny seed develop into dinner for me and my family.