Kate grows vegetables and fruit, too. Really well. Right now, an explosion of zucchini is threatening a coup on the cherry tomatoes, while a lazy, serpentine flow of watermelon vines shade the melons so they’ll be lusciously ripe when the Fourth rolls around. Volunteer kale showed up this summer, after a three-year hibernation, just to say “hello.” And, I assume, “eat me.” Katy gardens some things without even trying.
Both of my kids are great gardeners. I’m not sure where they got their agricultural gene, but it’s not in my DNA. The only green I’m good at growing lives on the cheese in my refrigerator. My son lives in Kentucky where good soil and abundant rain makes growing your own food so successful, it’s almost a sin not to do it. He’s mastered okra, tomatoes, jalapenos, carrots, green beans, and a host of squashes. A couple of years ago, he grew so much corn at his place that the local squirrels threw a party in his backyard and helped themselves to half his crop. There may have been some squirrel stew in the freezer for a while that summer. He never said.
Katy and Lee shine in their gardens, but there are other tender things they care for, too. Like the hearts of their children. They keep a close eye on the flow of influence in their lives, knowing that invaders can spring up like unwanted visitors at any time. Which is what I would call kale if it showed up in my non-existent garden. Just saying.
There are a lot of marauders when you’re the caretaker of a garden. You’ve got to be on high alert for freeloaders like wildlife and weeds. Come to think of it, weeds are probably the reason I pay other people to grow my food—I just don’t want to deal with the little trespassers. But if you don’t deal with them, they’ll steal all the water, light, and nutrients from your plants, and stunt the growth of your peppers. Some of them don’t just compete for space, either. Some are so toxic they’ll kill your carrots outright.
Here’s what I think is unfair about the whole thing. Sometimes, no matter what we do or how many books we study or how big our magnifying glass is, Weeds Happen. And when they do, we have three choices.
Ignore them. You know, play like an ostrich and stick your head in the sand. Maybe when you come up for air, the weeds will be gone. Let them grow however they want to and deal with it later. Or never. Maybe if you ignore them, they’ll magically disappear. But what if they don’t. Will they grow so big they make even overachiever zucchini plants look like almost-rans?
That leaves option two. Salt the garden bed. Shake your finger at the little interlopers and let them know in no uncertain terms that there will be no bad weeds popping up in this garden patch. Absolutely not. You won’t allow it. Go for the gusto and baptize the entire bed with a Costco-sized bag of salt. There isn’t a weed on the planet who could live through an assault like that. Of course, there aren’t any healthy plants who’d survive it, either. Afterwards, carpet the ground with some artificial turf and silk strawberries and your garden will be the envy of all your neighbors. It’s a poser, but no one will judge you for having weeds anymore. How could they? You cleared the ground of anything real and substituted life with fake plants. From the outside it will look visually perfect, this completely bogus, dead garden. But if appearance is what matters, this is the path to perfection.
I know. I’m frowning now, too. As hard as it is to face, the only way to protect your garden and deal with a weed is to pull it out. This takes daily work and an acceptance that there will be weeds. The best thing to do is yank them early and throw them away completely. You don’t want them to re-grow or infest your neighbor’s garden bed.
When I was a kid, one of my chores was to pull weeds. Probably the reason I don’t plant gardens today. It was emphasized, strongly, when the Weed Police showed up later to examine my work, that every weed I pulled had better have its roots attached. No yanking off the top just so the ground looked clean. Grab that baby at the base, loosen the dirt with a spade, and Get.Out.Every.Root.
So, you’re wondering, as you munch on a few carrot sticks, what does any of this have to do with parenting? Whether we’re cultivating a garden or a child’s heart, sooner or later we’re gonna have to do hand-to-hand combat with weeds. Don’t pretend they don’t exist. Look that little trespasser right in the face and yank it out. If there are thorns, put on gloves. In other words, arm yourself, but get down in the dirt and face it.
It’s exhausting. Thankless. Time consuming, sweaty, constant work. At the end of the day, we may become so frightened by the world our kids are growing up in we’ll be tempted to go to the extreme to shut it all out. Ditch the television, for example. Run background checks on their friends—and ours. Or even sell everything and move to Antarctica where you’ll never have to see another human being again.
But isn’t that the equivalent of salting your garden? If we want the future generation to have successful, life-giving, fruit-producing gardens, we’re going to have to show them what weeds look like so they can recognize the difference between crab grass and crops. We’ll even have to keep a watchful eye on our own lives, put on our gloves, and get face down in the dirt to pull out weeds of our own.
I am often tempted to run away. The worse the world becomes, the more I research the whole idea. I’ll admit it—I am an ostrich, with a tendency to either run or hide. But if I do, all that means is the weeds win. I don’t want the weeds to win. I want to be healthy. I want you and all your children to be healthy. And I want to enjoy real tomatoes, even if they do come from a grocery store.
I think we need to give ourselves a break. Weeds Happen. There’s no need for Gardener Guilt here. Being a healthy adult and raising healthy children, just like healthy plants, means weeds are going to pop up. You can count on it. Is it your fault? Not at all. Maybe the presence of weeds is even a good thing. The truth is every weed is an opportunity for you and your sprouts to learn what is good and noble and honest and true, and, by comparison, to remove from the garden everything that is not.
All of this is very hard work. But if you’re raising young gardeners who’ll one day be responsible for their own food, they have to be able to recognize a weed when they see one. They can’t do that if they spend their childhood hiding in an ice cave in Antarctica.
It’s exhausting. I know. Growing seasons are long and the day-to-day effort is often thankless. So, I’m here to offer my gratitude on behalf of your tender sprouts. You’re gifted. Courageous. Devoted and fearless. You are capable and fully up to the challenge. You are enough. I’m praying for you. No one else can bring in this harvest like you, the caretaker of your garden.
I know you’re tired. I know you worry whether you’re doing too much or too little. I hear it in your voices, read it in your Facebook posts, and I remember. I remember wondering if my little crop would survive all the weeds I overlooked. All my fellow former gardeners remember, too. And we’re rooting for you. You’re not only your children’s hero, you’re ours, too. But none of us is ever in this alone. There’s a Greater Gardener Whose hand is securely on yours, watering and nurturing and protecting. He believes in you, too.
Happy Gardening, my friend. I believe in you and your crop. I know you’ll bring in a harvest to outshine the best of them. After all, I'm a big fan of yours. I’ve got a front seat view, right here in the produce aisle, and I’m cheering you on. Just sitting here, munching on somebody else’s cherry tomatoes and saluting you with a fresh, imported pineapple.
Once a gardener, always a gardener.
With thanks to j arlecchino for the use of this sumptuous photo of tomatoes, my favorite fruit and vegetable. You can find the original photo by following this link:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/116797173@N07/15166693956/in/photolist-p7egHo-dr18RQ-seZZeA-nLLXr6-eUT957-9ArdEW-gPWmwX-o3pKQD-dpD55G-8nTrxB-efA732-8eNBD4-ajbeiC-cPRzhu-dWNTQw-9k6PW7-afffgB-j6UekJ-qT2Lmn-g92ek1-eX3GRi-c6N3m1-8rFGK8-53zQSY-ooUMzx-6sjzV3-nsMC8y-bPLBT6-cz9pEN-akUTRY-eiN3Xn-4EyfBS-gnEEof-axFpfA-oicE5S-3cCXZq-pKCXy6-d56GP7-iwLKFD-o2CFqC-6Rvncx-5JRAoC-cDU1s1-gFDPL8-agyThP-gxTQfe-EwU28Y-d8xd5u-2JpWDa-agvGfr
