My first garden, technically, wasn’t mine, but was a labor of love by my parents and the folks next door when I was just a kid. It went in where the sandbox had been, as I recall. We were too big for a sandbox (it was as I recall a really big one, homemade with triangular metal seats on each corner – and a good size for a starter garden. This was back in the 50s when even in urban areas like Hartford’s Blue Hills neighborhood, folks came around selling food. We had a milk box on he back porch or stoop, where the milkman would leave well, milk. It probably began as bottles, went to cartons. I don’t know when it stopped. I recently read in the paper that there are some places that still delivery milk, or that are actually starting it up again.

There was, I very very VERY vaguely recall, a guy with a truck full of vegetables and fruit who came around very very once in a while. I might be wrong about that but I think I remember getting strawberries from him. When we put in the garden plot, strawberries were probably a little fancy. What I remember is radishes and green beans.

The thing about radishes is that they start FAST; you put seeds in the ground and in a matter of days, 3 or 4, as I remember, you get a little green sprout. VERY gratifying when there are little girls around who don’t get he concepts of waiting and time and germination. There were 5 girls in the two households. The PROBLEM at least for me is that I don’t like radishes. I didn’t then, I still don’t. We also grew green beans and basically the second that we saw something that looked vaguely green beanish, we wanted to pick it. Again, really hard on the kids to make them wait, I think. Why aren’t they ready NOW?

So the truly first garden I had was the waist-high experimental garden in Berkeley. It was a swacking GREAT success and it spoiled me for life. We had a housemate who, well, it’s weird. He did not live at the house any more, but continued to pay rent because we had a very big back hard where he had tables and tables and TABLES full of cacti and succulents. He was paying a few hundred dollars a month for cactus space. This annoyed Bob and me both as a waste of a living space (though absentee housemates really are the best kind, often) and because it took up a back yard that we felt could be put to better use and which was frankly, unattractive and unfriendly. We’re talking about several hundred little cactus plants. Yuck. We finally pushed him out. I admit he had done nothing wrong but we seriously resented not being able to use not only the back yard spaces but the greenhouse window in our kitchen also packed to the brim with cactus. There are better uses, and since we actually lived there, we felt we had priority – there was no room with all of Sean’s unattractive little plants. I mean what was the point for him? He never saw them either as he was living with a girlfriend or something. He came by once in a very blue moon to do whatever you do to cacti. Meanwhile there they sat, uninteresting and hostile and not very enjoyable. (I know Silverberg had cacti too – I like him anyway.)

When Sean finally removed the things, we finally could do what we wanted with all that space. I wanted to try growing stuff, but even then, when my back was pretty healthy, did not think I could manage. Bob took the leftover lumber from the cactus project, found some more, built up sides, and got dirt and dumped it in - a true “raised bed” garden. It was perfect. It was waist-high, and just deep enough. I could reach ot the back of it – we hadn’t even thought of that, but maybe it was always the size of the boards, that I could strength my arm and reach to the plants in the back.

And so I went nuts. With not a huge amount of space, this thing surrounded our back deck on 2 sides, I put in so much stuff. Lemon cucumbers, tomatoes, carrots, lettuce, oregano, basil, green beans (I think) zucchini, and marigolds to keep the bugs away. I’m sure there was more but that’s what I remember a ver long time later (this was around 1982 or so) .And everything grew and gave and gave and gave. My annuals were perennial as it never got cold enough and basil plants are dumb. Happily, very dumb. They never caught on and just kept offering us leaves. Nice plants, nice plants. Pat, pat pat.

I wove vines between stakes, and read up on companion planting. I staked stuff to the porch railings. Everything grew and behaved. I had no idea what to do half the time and was flabbergasted the night Bob went out and cut lettuce for the salad. I had no idea who could do that it and would grow back – I had enver grown lettuce in my LIFE and what I knew was iceberg. Not by then, I mean we planted something like red leaf, but I didn’t know that’s how you did that. I thought we’d have to pull it up and start a new lettuce plant. Heavens no.

At the time, the Berkeley Co-op was alive and not always well, but it was at least in existence. They had a garden center and I could go buy mulch in bulk. This was a fine thing since I had such a small space and I didn’t have to buy Big Honkin Bags of it. (I mean I love that the Woodland Park Zoo here sells “zoo-doo” and hat you can get mulch free from the city but you have to get enough for the lower 40. I didn’t even have a lower 5. I did however, have the choice of several forms of mulch including the killer cocoa husks. Oh gawd. Yum – it was really good in Berkeley, which didn’t have a lot of rain and I did like the idea that nothing was wasted AND it smelled good. I didn’t like using newspaper or plastic as mulch – not Berkeley enough for me.

AND because it was up several feet, the slugs did not know we existed. About the 3d year, it finally apparently hit the slug grapevine, or the Slug times or SlugTV because they started showihg up – determined little bastards – but for the first 2 years, we were essentially pest-free as I remember.

I’m reading ANIMAL, VEGETABLE, MIRACLE by Barbara Kingsolver about her family’s decision to eat only what they produce. The family moved from Tucson to Virginia and realized that they could do much of this, although not at first. Reading this book is exhausting bur a lot of fun. I think the two daughters are saints – the older daughter thinks that fresh fruit is the best thing there is, and the younger Lily loves chickens. Since they can’t exactly raise Three Musketeers bars, there’s no mention of kids who want candy and gummy bears and popcorn and junk food. Nope they snack away happily on apples and cucumbers. They sould like hey were raised as modern Mennonites. Wow. They also realize that they can’t raise EVERYthing so they at least buy locally when they buy. Swap on occasion. It’s a really interesting book even if I do wonder at these two perfect children. (I’m rather enamored of Lily who not only fell for chickens at a very young age but knew, understood that if you don’t name your chickens, it’s easier to eat them. T one point her mother did get nervous when she announced she was going to name 4 of the roosters. Mr. Thanksgiving, Mr. Dinner, Mr. Sausage and….Sushi. I like Lily.

Kingsolver talks about the Dreaded Zucchini glut without apparently knowing the Piercy poem. (http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/attack-of-the-squash-people/) Apparently the only time in this community that they lock their doors is zucchini season so no one will sneak in and leave some behind. There are mentions of disappearing zucchini recipes, where you wouldn’t even know it was there (cookies included.) (Some years ago when I was prepping for a party, I was trying to chop the broccoli and at the same time mix batter for something. When Jerry came downstairs and saw the kitchen he asked (not sure how seriously) if I was making broccoli chip cookies. I chirped rather manically “why yes! It’s like carrot cake only greener!” I think for a few seconds, Jerry believed me, or at lest thought me capable of it.

Zucchini gluts are infamous; years ago I heard about a mother who resorted to adding them to milkshakes made in the family blender until her two sons caught her at it and she was done for. LEAVE A ZUCCHNI ON YOUR NEIGHBOR’S PORCH day (it’s August 8 – where WERE you??? Sniff sniff) which should be a national holiday solved some of this problem. I, non-gardener that I am now, welcome zucchini in this house. Even 15 or so years ago when we moved and I started some veggies, I could not get the stuff to grow. Don’t laugh- I wasn’t the only Seattleite with this problem. The fruit would not set or grow. Or when it did I got squash borers. Sigh. Yes, I felt as helpless and dumb as if I couldn’t get radishes to come up.

The favorite zucchini recipe chez roscoe is a sort of disappearing one in that it takes a lot of squash and makes it gone. It’s a recipe stolen from a San Francisco restaurant, long gone, called Ruby’s, which was my favorite for some time and I stole it the first time I ate it. It’s hugely simple and can be made fancy any way you want. Take a zucchini. Grate it on the large holes of the grater. Wring it out a bit. Sauté it in butter, oil, or both In a skillet. Add onion. Or don’t. Add thyme. Or don’t. Within 4 minutes, it’s limp, and awfully tasty and you wonder where all the zucchini went. It’s always always good. But it sort of disappears. You grate enough for 3 or 4 people, so you think, and it melts, sort of like when you add that heaping bowlful of spinach to the wok at the last minute. Pile it in, all of it. Put the lid on, wait a minute and a half, take the lid off and….and….hey, where’s the spinach? (reminding us once more how much of our food is made of water!)

At the same time, I think this family is stunningly amazing not only because Kingsolver never offers that they’re unhappy about foods they don’t get (this is a family that adores oatmeal for breakfast. All the time. While I’ve eaten it, it is not my idea of how to start the day. Do they never crave croissants? Cheerios? French toast?) They’re a little too amazing for me. No complaints? Not one “i’m tired of this after 5 days in a row of it?” (in some form). No longings for, not even “junk food” but a peanut butter sandwich (they do apparently grow peanuts)) or heath bar crunch ice cream (they make their own cherry sorbet but no, it’s NOT the same thing). Pudding? Bubble tea? Banana flavored gum? I’m not talking even “junk food” – clearly these girls were raised right and smart, so I’m not talking soda, and fast food burgers, but don’t most kids at some point want a scoop of Ben & Jerry’s or some popcorn?

And the work involved, as it’s described in this book is exhausting and backbreaking. Even hauling endless bushel baskets of tomatoes to be canned. Even standing at the stove stirring the pot of tomato sauce that’s been rendered down. Don’t they ever ache? It’s not easy what they set out to do and they don’t pretend that it is. I guess my wish is that Kingsolver would acknowledge that you require endless energy and the willingness to do this day and and day out, dawn to midnight - oh something like “this isn’t for everyone” because the message is primarily about how anyone can do this. She mentions getting up early and working late but it never seems to be a hardship or even a hassle. Are these 4 people really that saintly – and hardy? Even though Kingsolver is about my age, there’s a vast gulf that divides us. And I’m not even talking about their willingness to raise turkeys and kill them. That’s something but it’s not my real issue. It’s the exhaustion factor. The pain of standing and lugging and crouching and bending and standing and hauling.

That they seem to like all foods was pretty stunning too – but I suppose that’s not abnormal. Seems to me most restaurant critics like everything. I know they take friends with them but they still write convincingly as if they tasted the sweetbreads themselves.

The ability to drive everywhere and find whatever they wanted and pay for it also seems iffy, though Kingsolver does document the costs. She likes garlic enough to have bought six different varieties to plant. I get that – I went nuts the first time I had a Roozengarden tulip catalogue in my hands but still….six kids of garlic? For four people?

If you’ll excuse me, I gotta go make my list for the farmer’s market…