Over at the DG, my colleague Margaret Hartley writes about her love of gardening.
Here's an excerpt:
"From spring through fall, my family is thinking garden. I’ve been planting a few more seeds every morning in whatever used containers I’ve saved — plastic clamshells from strawberries, foam containers from mushrooms. All the paper coffee cups mined from my husband’s car floor are cleaned and ready for when it’s time to transplant tomatoes and peppers into individual pots.
In the morning I look at a window full of 1-inch sprouts, but what I see is full grown plants out in the garden, heavy with ripening vegetables.
I see gardens wherever I go, and where there aren’t gardens, I imagine them.
When we pick up the neighbor kid for school in the morning, I look at his sloping, south-facing lawn and see terraced gardens. The grass is spotty there anyway, and interspersed with moss, so I imagine sweetening the soil with wood ash and dumping piles of well-composted manure, maybe building up terraces with stone edges. I see it overflowing with vines of eggplants and squashes, poles of beans and tomatoes, edged in the back by towering sunflowers.
Then my daughter brings me back to earth.
'I don’t think they want a garden,' she says."
Click here to read the whole thing.