Black Thumb, Your Days Are Numbered

I was recently hit with the notion that I wanted to start a vegetable garden.  I get this idea in January when it’s cold and snowy and I’m dreaming of summer and fresh tomatoes.  I started pinning stuff to a “Gardening” board on Pinterest, which is what every great farmer does, I’m sure.  Then in March, I read Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal Vegetable Miracle, which really sealed the deal.  It called out to the hippie in me that wanted to go back to the land and live off of it or something (glossing over the hard work and dirty parts, of course).  I also caught myself wondering what would we do if the zombie apocalypse happened?!  Shouldn’t I know how to grow tomatoes and make cheese??  Obviously when the world is ending, these will be my two primary concerns.  My husband tells me I would most assuredly not make it.

My husband grew up on a farm.  They raised cattle for awhile, but also had what they call a small vegetable garden.  The chores I was complaining about as a kid pale in comparison.  He is now nostalgic for this life, which I for one think he had his memory cleaned out somewhere around 18.  Now that we have a daughter I find myself wanting her to understand where her food comes from.  It’s important to me that she eats healthy, and moreover enjoys it.

Okay, so you have to understand something about me.  I’m a city girl.  I don’t do dirt.  Or bugs.  (I have Pinterest nightmares of tomato plant beetles and slugs.)  I think food comes from a store.  I’m that girl that kills cacti.  This was made for me:

someecard

Anyway, you get the picture.  But, I am committed to this goal, no matter how outside my comfort zone I am headed.  I’m going to do it, damnit, and it’s going to be successful!  (I say this now inside the air conditioning in front of a computer.)

My husband agrees to lend his expertise and after quite a bit of procrastination, more than a few panic attacks, and some borrowed horse shit/dirt (technical term), we are, sigh, moving forward.  There are now seven hideously orange buckets on my front lawn.  Why the front yard, you ask?  Vegetables need full sun, didn’t you know?  And apparently orange buckets are cheapest (?!) and this is a “temporary” container garden so as to not ruin the lawn, you know, in case you aren’t committed it doesn’t work out.

Container Vegetable Garden | Jersey Up!

Dear neighbors, don’t judge me.

And so, we wait.  Wait for death (more likely) or vegetables (hopefully).  At least the automatic lawn sprinklers will give me an edge.  And I’m not even going to talk about the manure issue/benefit.  I will be sure to keep you posted on all my gardening pitfalls.  Friends, there is nothing a little self-deprication can’t fix!

Advertisements

7 thoughts on “Black Thumb, Your Days Are Numbered

  1. Oh, Kara, even if the project doesn’t turn out as planned you are a good and humorous writer. I can’t wait to see how this all turns out. BTW I agree about Aaron’s memory. Somehow time colors your perspective about so many things in life.

  2. Even if it doesn’t work out, there’s something wonderful to the whole gardening process. I finally got stuff to grow, but now the rabbits, chipmunks, and deer mock me. I look forward to hearing about your adventures. Good luck!

  3. Haha, I can’t wait for your kiddie to find out her food comes from horse poop!! But I love it – get back to the land! I want to read that book btw and today I saw World War Z. I won’t make it either. I am, however, currently trying to figure out how I can turn all of my cookie cutters into weapons. My damn hoarding had better be good for something!

Let me know what you think!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s