Here’s WHY my garden grows…
I like to be dirty (truly dirty, real dirt on my hands, knees and feet.) I’ve always been this way, any member of my family will tell you. And my husband can even attest to the fact that when I couldn’t get my hands filthy with soil, I’d settle for the next best thing… cigarette ash and the filth that only comes from living in a van or warehouse with 5 of the grodiest dudes around.
In every apartment, punk house, warehouse (and there’s been a few) or quaint suburban home I’ve ever lived in, I’ve attempted a garden. Sometimes they’ve produced… sometimes they didn’t. But I’ve always had the same overwhelming sense of delight when I see the first Tomato on the vine or sprout poking through the caliche that I’m hoping will pass for soil one day.
When I was 18 I had a house on Eastwood Drive in Vegas… Not a nice place to call home. But I was hell bent on growing something… anything. So when I wasn’t riding my scooter back and forth to the rehearsal studio, I spent my days tearing out a Cypress tree and planting herbs under the front window. My lesson: When ALL ELSE FAILS – Arugula will survive.
At 19 I lived in a huge warehouse off of Presido & Highland. Another rehearsal space. After making friends with a guy down the street with a burgeoning Hydroponic shop and crossing paths daily with my would be husband (YES! Jesse). I gave a grow room a whirl. Woah. Fears of helicopters with infrared capabilities finding me out ended that potential career pretty quick. But not before I spent months with my nose in a book learning all that I could about propagation and light/dark phases.
The punk house off Eastern I rented at 20, had little more than a pathetic little cherry tomato plant in a plastic pot to garden… with a fake ID and a house full of gear, my attention was elsewhere. That poor plant lived on little more than sheer will and bi-monthly waterings… but at the end of it all. The day I moved out… I noticed one bright shiny cherry tomato!
Later that year I rented a room from my friend Rick… and after I put a pothos or spider plant in every room and windowsill available, I ventured outside. Straight to the front yard of course! As not to disturb Perry the burrowing hound in the backyard. One trip to Lowes and a full blazer later my lover arrived home from work to find me sporting a homemade bikini, on a lounge chair, in the dirt lot we called the lawn. Surrounded by plants not even out of the six packs and plastic yet… all carefully placed around a blue kiddie pool. I’m sure this was the moment he fell in Love.
Our first little Love Nest together as a couple was across from UMC in what we referred to as the “Servants Quarters” of the Scotch Eighties. We moved everything we had formerly in 1500 sq ft into 900. There were house plants everywhere and little glasses with cuttings on every available surface. On my 22nd birthday that year we told everyone we left town, went to Home Depot with $100 and planted our first garden together. Ugly and rudimentary, yes… but produce it DID! We had tomatoes, cucumbers, squash and more. Each piece of produce had tiny little wiener dog bites taken out of them.
From there I found myself at “The Club House” for the next three years… and while you might think being the only semi-responsible member of a band full of maniacs would keep me pretty busy… I did find time to care for my plants. An especially funny story was when the guy next door came over to tell us the place was haunted, we left and returned a couple hours later to find one of my pothos in a terra-cotta pot burnt to a crisp and smoldering where it stood! No smoke, No company, No lighters, matches or candles around. Freaky right? Well Jesse let me think it was “the Ghost” for about a year and a half before he finally cop’d to sticking a freshly lit Nag Champa in the soil right before we left the building. Mystery Solved! And not a minute too soon.
When I was 25 we moved into a suburban neighborhood with a yard, started planning our wedding and all of a sudden found ourselves full time parenting a couple of kids. THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY DEGREES. Well working the soil has a way of helping ease frustrations… by spring I had removed rocks, brush and turned an 11’x 5′ area by hand. I did the same thing each spring for the next 3 years… including the year I did it 6 months pregnant. Refusing help and an offer to rent a rototiller. The fruits of my labor never tasted so good.
And in 2010 we bought our first home. After 10 years together with all these rag tag plants and gardens we find ourselves in the house of our dreams starting fresh.
And that’s why I do it… because I’m still trying to get it right.