In-A-Godda-Da-Vidda, Baby

 

"An expectant hush fellover the crowd. Strong men stared and shook their heads in wonderment that any rational person would so tempt fate as to eat something everyone knw was poisonous. Women held their breath; tehy say one faitnted. A medical doctor stood by. He had already advised both the crwd and his client that this mad act would result in frothing and foaming at the mouth, acute appendicitis, brain fever, possible stomach cancer, and , in all likelihood, certian suicide. The date was September 26, 1820; the place, the courthouse steps in Salem, New Jersey; teh principal actor, the eccentric Colonel Robert Gibbon Johnson; the mad act, eating a basketful of raw tomatoes."

--from You Say Tomato, (quoted from The American Magazine and Historial Chronicle, Winter 1987-88)

Love IT. This year we planted our first garden.

Lest you think this is one of those deals on a drip system out back that I can shew the children in the general direction of for an afternoon snack--think again. This is our city's community garden. Nestled in a neighborhood that boasts it's own police outpost, cozied up against the tracks (116 cars in 8 min one day, Bowery Bird filmed it), within a padlocked, chain-linked fence--is our little haven of a garden. I know, pretty idyllic.

But it really has been. The fence means both I don't have to worry about animals and can let my children run free to make forts in the untamed areas once we are safely locked in. We've harvested much more than I thought possible from two 4x16' plots and really minimal effort aside from planting and watering. That's the nice thing about the high desert I guess--even weeds don't grow much here.

This little place has reminded me how much I love the smell of tomato plants. My parents tell of when I wasn't old enough to talk and crawled over our deck railing, and down a 7' 4x4 support to eat green tomatoes from our garden, then walk around to the front door and knock so my baffled mother could open the door and let me in.





My children, who have seen a lot more manicured lawns than I ever experienced, find it a place they can get filthy and dig and dump and let loose. I don't know who loves that more--me or them. It's a good place for us to be.

So I am pretty proud that this summer I've been able to follow-through with my first full-on garden. In all honesty, my Visiting Teacher (a.k.a. The Best Babysitter Ever, because she made root beer with my kids, took them to a pet store, told them to choose their favorite spool of ribbon to keep, and let them chase her cat) suggested I join her in doing a garden and really showed me how. She moved in August, leaving me literally to reap the rewards. She  became a friend and I truly miss her.