It's difficult to pinpoint when it happened. It may have been late last July when our apricots came in. Or, maybe, last August, when our few precious ears of sweet corn matured. Maybe it's been a culmination of two successful summers of heirloom tomatoes--and more on the way this summer. While I can't nail down a precise date, I am sure it's happened. Somewhere along the way, my partner and I--two erstwhile city boys--have become farmers.
Ok. I exaggerate a bit. "Farmers" is a bit extreme. Maybe, "growers?" "Coaxers of the earth for good things?" Perhaps, "weekend weeders and gopher fighters?"
The truths is, it's been mostly my partner and his continual efforts to convert so-so soil to our own fertile crescent. It's been a labor of (mostly weekend) love and sweat--and occasional swearing, including truckloads of "special" soil, augmented by countless bags of soil enrichers, fertilizers, mulch, specially researched seeds, carefully nurtured seedlings--and the list goes on.
All of the above is the tended with loving--and seemingly unending--care: tilling, watering, dusting with organic pesticides, plugging, flooding and baiting gopher holes. And finally, with the addition of
sonic technology, a modest reduction in gopher trails--symbolic of a possible detente in the war of the roses, et al?
For all these efforts we get beautiful flowers--an abundance from March through November: starting with March daffodils, April tulips, May irises, June roses, July dahlias--and more, right through the last zinnias of November!
Our table is equally blessed with vegetables. We have had varying degrees of success with carrots, radishes, beets, potatoes, lettuce, corn, zucchini and beans. And, thanks to my partner's inherent knowledge and unending curiosity about plant material, we have had wonderful, gorgeous, juicy--delicious!--tomatoes. Seven varieties, to be exact. Each with its own unique color, texture and flavor. All welcome on our dinner (and lunch and breakfast) plates. All bringing the satisfaction of being able to casually acknowledge, "Oh these. We grew them."
Incredible flavor, and the satisfaction of growing produce with your own two--dirty--hands. I'm not sure which tastes better. But, I know that, despite the fact that I refer to our little garden place as "the farm," (which induces groans and eye-rolling from my partner, subtle laughter from others--and I'm perfectly ok with both), the land we tend pays us back with delicious, fresh food.
The not-so-secret fact is, almost anyone--citified or country--can accomplish this on a smaller scale--right at home. All it takes is a sunny patch (window, porch or yard), a bit of soil, some seeds or plant material, and a desire to make it all come together. Yes, it takes some investment of money and time. And, if all of this leaves you asking, "Why not just get it at the store," then gardening may just not be for you.
But, if the idea of a tomato (or corn, potatoes, zucchini, herbs, etc.) fresh off the vine appeals to some inner part of you, then I urge you to get thee to a garden shop and begin the odyssey. Never grown anything before? Take a chance. Experiment. What's the worst that could happen? Suppose nothing grows? Then, you'll end up back at the produce section or the farmer's market. But, at the very least, you'll have a greater appreciation for where our food comes from, and the efforts made to put food on our tables.
So what does this have to do with therapy? Well, ask any gardener. The answer you're likely to get is: Gardening IS therapy. For me, digging in the dirt is rewarding. Watching the flowers and vegetables grow is elating. And, with summer heading into full swing, the idea of my first, home-grown tomato sandwich? Well, it's almost intoxicating. Ask any tomato fan.
Happy summer. And, thanks for listening.
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