Impressions made as a child ripple into adulthood in seemingly illogical ways at times. My mom and I had some tough days in my early years, probably what bonded us so closely together. Food was scarce at times, but we always made do. We would find a way to have a meal, even in the most creative sense of the word. I learned early on how precious food was and that you can make a meal out of anything you have on hand, as long as you have love in your heart.
These lessons were valuable to me as I created my own home and family as an adult. Never did a vegetable rot in my fridge or was a takeout order placed because there was nothing on hand to make a meal. These impressions served me well, that is until I started to get pretty good at growing my own food.
I've been gardening for five years now. As a novice, that first year I barely got anything more than a few peas and some lettuce out of the ground. As my knowledge has increased with each year, so has the bounty that has come with it. What hasn't increased is the size of my family. Yep, just two of us and nearly 1,000 square feet of growing space.
Year three is when things started to get out of hand and my husband and I felt like chewing was a second job. There was so much kale being harvested that we were eating colanders of it multiple times a day. That impression of childhood scarcity left me determined not to let anything go to waste, clouding the consideration that someone else might benefit from the excess I was growing.
Last year I was having lunch with a co-worker; we didn't know each other all that well at the time. I brought my trusty colander to the picnic table and started in on my marathon munch. My lunch date was amazed by the amount of vegetables I was consuming and inquired about my monstrous salad. I told the story of how prolific the garden had gotten and how many veggies were coming out of the ground and how time consuming it was to eat all this glorious food. Too much organic produce to eat, poor me. She simply asked, "why don't you just give away what you can't eat?" It was like she was speaking another language. Give away food? Impossible.
I thought for a moment before I responded. An image of my mom slicing hot dogs and adding them to a can of beans in a pot flashed through my memory. It was what we had on hand and she made it with love; it was a meal. Things were scarce, but we were happy and that was my past. I looked into my colander, took out a long purple pole bean and offered it across the table. It was a baby step in the way I adapted how I viewed food. It didn't all need to be just for my family; there was enough to share. Scarcity is not part of my present and I can grow as much food as I am able and only eat as much as I need and no more.
This year we added over 400 square feet of growing space. All tilled and cared for with the intention of sharing this food with my friends and community members. I charge a few bucks to cover the cost of the plants and their maintenance, but nobody’s getting rich selling beets out of their garden. It is about connection ~ to the land, to my community, to the food I grow and love so dearly.
That same co-worker I sat with at the picnic table is now a dear friend. We’ve been through a lot together in the past year. I walked into work last week with a bag full of carrots, catnip and kale; an order I was filling from my garden for a friend at the gym. She looked at me and smiled, “you’ve come a long way in a year.”