In My Garden
by guest author, Jolie
As I reach for the ripe red tomato, I recall the day I planted a small seed that has grown into a colossal bush of a plant. The day was warm; the soil was black with nutrients begging for something, anything to be placed deep within, so the roots could take hold and produce a plant so large and so heavy with fruit that it struggles to hold itself up.
The tomato was a deep red, like the tomatoes my grandmother grew in her garden. The same red fruit I would steal from the bowl on the kitchen counter when her back was turned and run outside and hide. I distinctly remember the taste; earthy and sweet the type of taste you cannot possibly get from store bought tomatoes trucked in from California. The sort of tomato that is so ripe the juice would run down my arms as I devoured the whole thing in my sanctuary of the garden shed.
I loved my granny’s garden. I have fond memories of picking green beans and eating every third one. Picking okra always left a stinging, itchy sensation on my arms and legs, but it did not matter because I knew there would be fried okra for dinner that night. The corn stalks were always too high for me to pick but I could eat my weight in fresh corn-on the-cob. The real prize was picking a cantaloupe to go with the fried okra. There was a trick, thumping the melon to elicit a deep tone. This tone made granny believe the seeds were few and the flesh was thick. Another important trait was the odor a ripe cantaloupe gives. A sweet, earthy smell; an attribute lost at the local market. The watermelon, oh the watermelon that grew there in her garden. My granny grew giant, green-striped ovals of
sugary delight, on a grand scale, one-quarter of the garden was devoted to watermelons. We were never without watermelon during the summer, and we ate it morning, noon and night.
I have all of these pictures in my head of my granny in a hot kitchen, making jam, canning green beans and peas, and “puttin’ up” potatoes and onions for the winter. It makes me wonder if this is why I am a vegetable-loving gardener and if these are the reasons my family and I eat buckets of cucumbers, zucchini, tomatoes and onions from our garden every year. I was exposed to a plant-based diet every summer without realizing it. We ate from the garden all summer long, and well into the fall. There was no need for any meat products, the vegetables were the main course. Except on Sunday, after church Granny made her famous fried chicken that was so good I can still taste it, but it was the okra, cantaloupe, fresh-sliced tomatoes, cucumbers, and steamed squash that made my mouth water.
These thoughts make me wonder if our modern, technologically advanced society has changed so much, that life is so busy, no one has the time to garden. Are there no grandparents to teach the children to pick and shell peas, or snap green beans, or how to pick the perfect cantaloupe?
I pose these questions in my head for a brief moment as I spy my own two-year old stealing a ripe, deep-red tomato from the vine and running to seek solace in the shade.
