It is so hard for me to start from the beginning. To get where we are now has been such a long journey. Wonderful, enlightening, and sometimes so discouraging I threw in the towel and swore off gardening for ever. But something has always called me back.
The early years of my gardening career (can I say career now that I’m a stay at home momma?) were rough. I knew nothing about plants, or gardening aside from you have a spot tilled, dig a hole, toss a plant in, and laugh every time you pass a grocery store and don’t have to go in – because you grow everything yourself.
I envisioned meals with vibrant colors and flavors. (I had no idea how to cook either, unless a hot pocket and pop tart count.) Giant bowls filled with luscious fruit, and smoothies with berries and spinach freshly picked that morning.
My love of growing began at an early age. My grandpa’s on both sides kept a garden while I was very young and even my great-grandpa (AKA, Great) had a huge garden. One of my earliest memories is helping him harvest one of his massive watermelon. They lived right in front of my parent’s property and I spent most of my summer days at their house.
My very first garden plot was a small 8’x8′ plot at my parent’s house after we had moved into town. By this time my Grandpa on my dad’s side had passed away, Great had been gone for several years, and my Pepaw advised me to cover the ground with straw around my plants heavily. Which made no sense to me. It would look messy and ugly, and would just get slimy – so that advice was quickly brushed off.
It was every bit of a disaster that a first year garden on freshly tilled soil could be. To top it off, my parent’s property flooded heavily every year. The base of my little plot butted up against about an eighth an acre of mosquito infested water from June to August. I had focused mostly on berries and tomatoes. (My 18 year old, know-it-all self not realizing berries are perennials and generally take a year to get established before producing well.) By the end of that growing season, it was nothing but a muddy, sticky mess that I then abandoned as I moved away for college. I hadn’t gotten a single fruit from any of my work.
My second attempt at growing my own food was while living with my now in-laws. They allowed me to put up a small raised bed behind their garage. Everything started off well. All the soil was brought in, so I had high hopes of easier weed management for this attempt.
It was completely foreign to me, going from growing in town with little animal trouble to struggling against ALL.THE.FURRY.THINGS! Between the raccoons digging, rabbits nibbling, and deer stripping tomatoes bare – I started to resent that little patch. It was quickly forgotten and became overran with briars and horrible crabgrass. I think we harvested *maybe* a tiny, bitter “sweet” pepper and some tomatoes affected with blossom end rot.
These were my first experiences as a gardener. I hadn’t done any research, talked to anyone with experience, or really put time or effort into planning or maintaining them. I was fully under the expectation that it should be easy and anyone could do it. I had this vision in my head of Great’s garden. The long, straight rows, weeds were rarely seen, and not a pest or insect insight. Vowed to achieve this someday. Growing my own food was something I was determined to do, I just had to beat the soil and wildlife into submission. I would show them who was really in control!
(To be continued)
