I have a very complex relationship to gardening. I don't like to weed. I don't like to water. I rarely remember to pick. And yet, I feel a sense of righteousness maybe even a sense of rightness when I till the soil, plant the seeds, tend the seedlings, pick the leaves, wash the bitter greens, and eat them. Plus, I think every child should know how food comes into being. Plus it's so Montessori. Plus it's so Seattle.

So, I've been growing a vegetable garden for the past five years or so and doing and dang bad job at it--stunted carrots, tomatoes that never ripen, snap peas that never even flower. But this year, I had the grandparents in town to give me a good head start. John's parents are great gardeners. Let's take a moment to sing heavenly praise to the tomatoes, corn, and basil they grow in Ohio. I'm obviously not going to have the weather factor they have there, i.e., sun. But I hoped by having them take a hand in my garden some of the magic might rub off.

I surprised them with this plan when they arrived for a four day visit already filled with things like performing at Folklife. But they were game. On our trip to the garden store, I let the kids each pick their own plant. Rose chose a flowering basil, David got chocolate mint. Tilling the soil involved David with a spray hose, David with a large and dangerous shovel, David with an even larger and more dangerous fork. I spent most of my energy managing David, and the grandparents, with Rose, measured and dug and protected my tomato plants from cut worms.

It took us two days, but we now have a vegetable garden, and all of us are extremely proud. We promised the grandparents regular updates, so maybe we will tend it this year.