The Ghost of Gardens Past

Confession time: What you are about to see is not my current garden. If I were to show you my "yard" right now (and yes, the quotation marks are appropriate in this case), you would see a strip of grass at a 45-degree angle on the hill leading up to our front door.

And even that is maintained by the town home association.

Whoop-dee-do.

So when Lisa announced her intentions to hold a Garden Party, I lamented that I was a year too late to play. Being the very picture of graciousness, she told me I could join the party even with old material.

I think she also told me to bring a housewarming gift of cinnamon rolls and to please keep my husband at home, but I could be wrong. (Did anyone else have that on their invitation?)

Confession number two: Five years ago, I hadn't grown so much as a dandelion in my yard. Corey is the gardener in this family, and he's dang good at it. At our last house in San Diego, he took a month off work to landscape our backyard. A MONTH! And when he was done, it was a slice of paradise -- Gerber daisies, scads of hibiscus bushes, bougainvillea, a Meyer lemon tree, yucca, impatiens, daisies, agapanthus.

Too bad it was reduced to ashes a few months later.

(Hold on. I think that would preach!)

Anyway. When we moved back to the Midwest five years ago and suddenly had yard the size of our old neighborhood (a little more than 1.5 acres), I got an itch to develop my green thumb. Specifically, I wanted to try vegetable gardening.

So Corey, who loves to spend time outdoors, bought a industrial-strength tiller and got to work. We were stunned at what he plowed up. It was some of the richest, darkest soil I've ever seen -- loam, the black gold of the gardening world.

What I'm saying is -- that soil made me look good. Because that year, I threw about 20 different vegetables in the garden, did nothing else but weed, and everything grew like gangbusters.

That was all it took for me to get the gardening bug. Each year, I inched out of my shell a little further, planting more exotic vegetables, trying new varieties. And each year, I was thrilled with the results.

Here's the garden fully planted in 2005. It's early June in this picture.

And here's the garden just six weeks later.

We may have a short growing season here in Minnesota, but we make up for it with long hours of summer sunlight. (Today, for example, the sun rose at 5:27 AM. The sunset is at 9:01 PM, and the sky will hold a blush of light until 10:00. Which makes it slightly difficult to get children to bed, but that's a separate post.)

In case you're interested, I think I've got carrots, sugar snap peas, green and wax beans, peppers, tomatoes, zucchini, cucumbers, pumpkins and squash in there.

I also planted a hedge of morning glories on the northern fence each year. Because they are the Brangelina of the flower world -- gorgeous and, um, quite prolific.

And here's the garden in early September.

By this point, I was plotting ways to get rid of the tomatoes and zucchinis that were multiplying like mutant bunnies in my yard. Thankfully, I had many friends who welcomed organic, homegrown vegetables.

(Side story, but after that first year, I suddenly understood all the jokes about zucchinis. If you turn your back on a zucchini plant for even one minute, it's all over. They will take over your garden, like zombies taking over New York. Here's Natalie "playing" with one of our monster zucchini that first year. And there's another one on the counter! It's like a horror movie! Watch out, Natalie!)

Of course, it wasn't all overgrown, zombie produce. I usually grew at least two varieties of tomatoes, which made for some gorgeous insalata caprese. (The basil is also from our garden.)

And gosh darn it if vegetable gardening didn't make it easy to eat a rainbow everyday.

Sigh.

Now I miss my garden. I'm growing two tomato plants and a few herbs in pots on my deck. But it isn't the same.

Part 2 of this story would be the landscaping that Corey did around the foundation of our lakeside home. It involved two weeks outside in 90-degree heat, more than 200 plants and trees, almost 1000 bags of mulch and lots and lots of sweat.

But maybe I'll save that chapter for next year. (There will be a next year, right Lisa?)

Instead, I'll leave you with the view from my garden of yore. God's glory was always right in front of me, whether it was in the form of a perfectly red and juicy tomato or a sunset that was glory defined.

And that's why I love gardening.