“What’s that?” I asked a neighbor, pointing to a large pot on her patio.
“Salad,” she replied with a smile. Sure enough, she had sown lettuce, snow peas, and a tomato plant into what would normally be a flower pot. On the spot, I fell in love with the idea of being able to step out to my patio and pick my salad. After arriving at the doorstep of my mind, the idea moved in and took possession. I figured if she could grow salad in a patio pot, so could I.
That was last August, too late to plant. Nevertheless, I surveyed my limited space, already flowing with hydrangea, lavender, jasmine, geraniums, two struggling little dogwood trees, weeping cherry tree and a newly planted quince. How could I make room on the patio for a salad growing box? Except for trees, I’m a committed container gardener. It’s so much easier to control the weeds, you see. What if I extended the plant patio I’d put in by the fence that separates my yard from other condo residents?
I confess that over the last year, additional bricks and pavers began inching slowly along the fence behind two vacant condos. As the days began to lengthen, I took a deep breath and approached the condo association about putting in a second plant patio, down at the end of the fence. With permission granted, I was ready.
Once the new plant patio was in place, I began my “salad” garden, starting with sugar peas in two black plastic pots. Then came a cherry tomato plant, appropriately festooned with a metal cage, followed by lettuce and melon in a planter close to my patio sliding door.
Then I turned my attention to my poor root-bound bamboo plant. Hoping to staunch the browning of its leaves, I decided to thin it. (I should have pulled it out of the pot and trimmed the roots, but being too lazy then I’ll have to do it this fall.) As I cut away, it occurred to me that bamboo sticks often come in handy. So I trimmed the stalks neatly and placed them in my storage unit.
When tiny green sprouts appeared in the two black pots, I realized I would need trellises for the peas to climb. “Ah ha, I bet I can use those sticks I harvested from the bamboo plant.” It worked. The resulting bamboo and raffia structures were not exactly Japanese garden quality, but they stood erect and had crossbars for the peas to twine around.
Now nutritious veggies are growing in my container garden, alongside my lavender, geraniums, jasmine, and primroses. I’m freezing blueberries and strawberries and I might even try my hand at making quince jelly.
Twenty years ago, in the middle of a financial crisis, I told myself that all I really needed was a basic shelter and a small plot of land where I could grow my own food. I suspect it was seeing so many subsistence farmers in countries all over the world that planted this image in my mind. Certainly there were no other agricultural experiences upon which to draw. Anyway, other solutions arose and I set aside the food growing option, until now.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t claim to be a farmer. I’m certainly not producing enough food even for my one person household. But what has happened is that I have a new connection to the cycle of life and a deeper appreciation for organic growers who till the soil day after day, season after season. I feel I'm participating with Great Mystery in the miracle of life.
It would be hard to overstate the pleasure and contentment I derive from an evening walk in the garden. After work each day I check out my plants to see how they’re doing. I go around deadheading the flowers, picking peas, pinching off lettuce leaves, watering if needed. Last night I harvested my first cherry tomatoes.
So you see, Michelle Obama isn’t the only person growing food! I am. I’ll bet you can do it too.
“Salad,” she replied with a smile. Sure enough, she had sown lettuce, snow peas, and a tomato plant into what would normally be a flower pot. On the spot, I fell in love with the idea of being able to step out to my patio and pick my salad. After arriving at the doorstep of my mind, the idea moved in and took possession. I figured if she could grow salad in a patio pot, so could I.
That was last August, too late to plant. Nevertheless, I surveyed my limited space, already flowing with hydrangea, lavender, jasmine, geraniums, two struggling little dogwood trees, weeping cherry tree and a newly planted quince. How could I make room on the patio for a salad growing box? Except for trees, I’m a committed container gardener. It’s so much easier to control the weeds, you see. What if I extended the plant patio I’d put in by the fence that separates my yard from other condo residents?
I confess that over the last year, additional bricks and pavers began inching slowly along the fence behind two vacant condos. As the days began to lengthen, I took a deep breath and approached the condo association about putting in a second plant patio, down at the end of the fence. With permission granted, I was ready.
Once the new plant patio was in place, I began my “salad” garden, starting with sugar peas in two black plastic pots. Then came a cherry tomato plant, appropriately festooned with a metal cage, followed by lettuce and melon in a planter close to my patio sliding door.
Then I turned my attention to my poor root-bound bamboo plant. Hoping to staunch the browning of its leaves, I decided to thin it. (I should have pulled it out of the pot and trimmed the roots, but being too lazy then I’ll have to do it this fall.) As I cut away, it occurred to me that bamboo sticks often come in handy. So I trimmed the stalks neatly and placed them in my storage unit.
When tiny green sprouts appeared in the two black pots, I realized I would need trellises for the peas to climb. “Ah ha, I bet I can use those sticks I harvested from the bamboo plant.” It worked. The resulting bamboo and raffia structures were not exactly Japanese garden quality, but they stood erect and had crossbars for the peas to twine around.
Now nutritious veggies are growing in my container garden, alongside my lavender, geraniums, jasmine, and primroses. I’m freezing blueberries and strawberries and I might even try my hand at making quince jelly.
Twenty years ago, in the middle of a financial crisis, I told myself that all I really needed was a basic shelter and a small plot of land where I could grow my own food. I suspect it was seeing so many subsistence farmers in countries all over the world that planted this image in my mind. Certainly there were no other agricultural experiences upon which to draw. Anyway, other solutions arose and I set aside the food growing option, until now.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t claim to be a farmer. I’m certainly not producing enough food even for my one person household. But what has happened is that I have a new connection to the cycle of life and a deeper appreciation for organic growers who till the soil day after day, season after season. I feel I'm participating with Great Mystery in the miracle of life.
It would be hard to overstate the pleasure and contentment I derive from an evening walk in the garden. After work each day I check out my plants to see how they’re doing. I go around deadheading the flowers, picking peas, pinching off lettuce leaves, watering if needed. Last night I harvested my first cherry tomatoes.
So you see, Michelle Obama isn’t the only person growing food! I am. I’ll bet you can do it too.
