G (husband) likes to garden. I like to eat. So each year we try to plant some vegetables. “Try” because sewing seeds in New England is a bit of a gamble. If you start too early, frost will kill the tiny tendrils. Too late, and you miss the window of productivity. Last year, we seemed to hit it just right. Radishes, carrots, cucumbers, sugar snap peas, green beans, and the crown jewel of any garden, tomatoes. Lots of them (yes, that’s a netted bag of onions in the mix below).
A word of advice about tomatoes: don’t plant yellow pear ones. There were far too many and far too few ways to eat them.
Later in the summer, we planted some potatoes our neighbor gave us (for the garden, not the kitchen) that had sprouted eyes. We weren’t expecting much from these little eyes, but we watered and waited anyway. A couple of months later, we felt Irish:
The best part of the garden last year, and pretty much every year, is harvest. If there’s a better way to teach children the rewards of working the soil and loving your vegetables, I haven’t found it. Their amazement at how a tiny seed sprouts and transforms into food reminds me of the wonder of the garden.
At least until I see another weed.