There are all manners of gardens, and all manners of reasons to grow them. Personally, it may come down to simple economics (despite economics being anthing but simple); wouldn't it be so much more affordable to grow what you eat? And maybe that's your reason: an idealistic, even pastoral, dream of self-sustainability, because, after all, we live in a time and place inseperably bound by one's increasing self-attendance in light of the ever-inflating population on the planet. It's as if humanity saw its numerical presence and magnitude as a raging hard-on, stroking itself larger and harder so that we can scream with as little irony as possible into the empty universe, "fuck you, man!"
We envision some vine plants growing on the fence, in the shade of the house. Not all plants need that much light, you know. Broccoli, lettuce, maybe peas. We'll need an herb plot, of course, but that shouldn't take up too much room. Zucchini is quite easy to grow, even if deceptively tricky to spell. Whereupon we can imagine the small urban farmer standing in her garden, holding up her crop label to the light, hoping that recasting some shadows might illuminate some truth on the paper.
My grandfather grew a sizable garden for most of my childhood, not really giving it up until he had a quadruple bypass. He had been a heavy smoker in his teenage years, and I feel that as a result, he has always been intent on maintaining a healthy lifestyle ever since he gave it up. My family has hounded me since I was young to swim as much as possible, since, after all, it is the best form of exercise. Trips to the local rec center came as regularly as meals and showers.
My grandparents' backyard, as I mentioned, was quite sizable, and I have no idea what my grandfather grew exactly, but he was always outside, pulling this, moving that, watering where water was needed. The cloud of insects surrounding him swirled and dissolved into the Tennessee air like sugar into lemonade. My grandfather didn't even notice them I think, even though we did, as we slapped our arms and necks anytime we had to venture out of the air conditioning during a commercial break in order to relay some half-decoded Vietnamese message from my grandmother.
And when, on those occasions, we did enter the garden, the line of foot stones wove an intricate path between rows and cages and even a latticed archway. There was a mystery in the pathways that seemed only evident to my grandfather, as if the Cretians had abandoned their labyrinth, and left the minotaur to his own devices to grow his sustenance.
We sometimes watched my grandfather from inside, through the sliding glass door on the side of the house. It was as if we were being presented with two screens with entirely incompatible programming. We were back in the land of free choices for the summer, and the only ones that mattered to us were which movie we'd get to watch at the movie theatre that summer, and when we'd get to go to our cousins' house, where the Nintendo was. I remember relearning Chinese chess every summer from my cousin, and then proceeding to beat him and forget how to play all over again a few weeks later.
When my grandfather had the heart attack that led to his bypass surgery, we had stopped visiting as frequently, as much due to our tight summer family schedules as due to our indignation at being held hostage for weeks in sleepy Oak Ridge, TN, home of the first atom bomb. After the operation it was deemed too hazardous to allow my grandparents to continue living on their own, and they eventually ended up moving out of that house, moving in with relatives here and there, where their failing eyes, hearts and bones could be closely watched over for further defects. The garden had long since become overrun with undergrowth and weeds. And with the minotaur gone, the labyrinth now led nowhere but empty circles.
Our compost heap is almost ready, just needing a few good stirrings now that the weather has warmed up. We're also thinking of starting some potato barrels in addition to the garden, where we'll definitely be growing hot peppers. Everyone has agreed on the necessity of tomatoes, and our one roommate will probably have his own personal plot for his own personal tomatoes. He even wants to purchase some cages for them, which seems like quite the investment, all things considered. And as I wait to hear back from graduate schools to figure out where I'm moving next after the summer, I wonder what will continue to grow here when I'm gone.
We envision some vine plants growing on the fence, in the shade of the house. Not all plants need that much light, you know. Broccoli, lettuce, maybe peas. We'll need an herb plot, of course, but that shouldn't take up too much room. Zucchini is quite easy to grow, even if deceptively tricky to spell. Whereupon we can imagine the small urban farmer standing in her garden, holding up her crop label to the light, hoping that recasting some shadows might illuminate some truth on the paper.
My grandfather grew a sizable garden for most of my childhood, not really giving it up until he had a quadruple bypass. He had been a heavy smoker in his teenage years, and I feel that as a result, he has always been intent on maintaining a healthy lifestyle ever since he gave it up. My family has hounded me since I was young to swim as much as possible, since, after all, it is the best form of exercise. Trips to the local rec center came as regularly as meals and showers.
My grandparents' backyard, as I mentioned, was quite sizable, and I have no idea what my grandfather grew exactly, but he was always outside, pulling this, moving that, watering where water was needed. The cloud of insects surrounding him swirled and dissolved into the Tennessee air like sugar into lemonade. My grandfather didn't even notice them I think, even though we did, as we slapped our arms and necks anytime we had to venture out of the air conditioning during a commercial break in order to relay some half-decoded Vietnamese message from my grandmother.
And when, on those occasions, we did enter the garden, the line of foot stones wove an intricate path between rows and cages and even a latticed archway. There was a mystery in the pathways that seemed only evident to my grandfather, as if the Cretians had abandoned their labyrinth, and left the minotaur to his own devices to grow his sustenance.
We sometimes watched my grandfather from inside, through the sliding glass door on the side of the house. It was as if we were being presented with two screens with entirely incompatible programming. We were back in the land of free choices for the summer, and the only ones that mattered to us were which movie we'd get to watch at the movie theatre that summer, and when we'd get to go to our cousins' house, where the Nintendo was. I remember relearning Chinese chess every summer from my cousin, and then proceeding to beat him and forget how to play all over again a few weeks later.
When my grandfather had the heart attack that led to his bypass surgery, we had stopped visiting as frequently, as much due to our tight summer family schedules as due to our indignation at being held hostage for weeks in sleepy Oak Ridge, TN, home of the first atom bomb. After the operation it was deemed too hazardous to allow my grandparents to continue living on their own, and they eventually ended up moving out of that house, moving in with relatives here and there, where their failing eyes, hearts and bones could be closely watched over for further defects. The garden had long since become overrun with undergrowth and weeds. And with the minotaur gone, the labyrinth now led nowhere but empty circles.
Our compost heap is almost ready, just needing a few good stirrings now that the weather has warmed up. We're also thinking of starting some potato barrels in addition to the garden, where we'll definitely be growing hot peppers. Everyone has agreed on the necessity of tomatoes, and our one roommate will probably have his own personal plot for his own personal tomatoes. He even wants to purchase some cages for them, which seems like quite the investment, all things considered. And as I wait to hear back from graduate schools to figure out where I'm moving next after the summer, I wonder what will continue to grow here when I'm gone.
