The thing about vegetables is that they take a long time to do anything interesting. They require weeding and watering and more weeding … and more weeding. As it turns out, I have a gardening attention span of approximately six weeks. Unfortunately for me, Mother Nature doesn’t produce much of anything in 45 days. By the time the plants were actually getting ready to produce, I had usually moved on to other interests.
I eventually started referring to my backyard plot as “The Secret Garden.” It was a nice way of saying it was overgrown, unkempt and largely abandoned. Instead of letting guilt over take me, I decided to be more whimsical about it. Don’t get me wrong, I’d water it if it really needed it, but it was very much a game of survival of the fittest out there.
By August, the garden was a jungle. If I was brave enough to hunt through the weeds (and bugs), I could always find some produce. Without fail, there would be at least one giant cucumber hiding under all that nonsense. I’d inevitably mistake it for a zucchini because of its sheer size. There was one year that I lost a zucchini as well — saying it was huge doesn’t do it justice. It was scary big.
A few years ago, I had a moment of clarity. I realized it was significantly more cost-effective to take my garden-planting budget to the local farmers market. I could get fresh vegetables, support local growers and I didn’t have to deal with all the upkeep my backyard required. I didn’t throw in the towel completely, I just scaled back.
Now, I stick to several large pots in the front of the house. I have enough space for cherry tomatoes, plenty of basil and whatever fun flowers my kids put into the cart at the garden center. It’s the perfect compromise. I still get that hit of dopamine that comes from growing something myself, and I don’t feel bad about leaving my baby veggies all alone to fend for themselves.
Albert Lean April Jeppson is a wife, mom, coach and encourager of dreams. Her column appears every Saturday.
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