Here's a view of gardening from across the pond, written by John Hershey, 'America's least knowledgeable gardening expert'. Read more at Rakishwit.
As another community garden season passes by we have a lot to celebrate. We grew delicious food, we enjoyed the company of our fellow gardeners, and we were among the only people in the country who could safely eat spinach during the summer.
But for me, the greatest reward is the fun I have with my kids. Gardening with children is a wonderful experience for everyone. This year my sons met many nice people from various places and cultures. Our garden friends shared delicious heirloom tomatoes and funky loofah gourds with us. And gardening with my 3-year-old son, Daniel, has finally allowed me to achieve the elusive "knee-high by the Fourth of July" standard for my corn. Hey, nobody ever said it had to be my knee!
But we also celebrate the things that went wrong in the garden. Celebrate failure? Oh, yes. We cherish our gardening screwups because, unlike most other failures in life, garden disasters are temporary. The first frost wipes the slate clean, and we start fresh next year, empowered to do better by the lessons we've learned from our missteps.
One error I made this season was taking the garden for granted as a safe and nurturing place for children. It is such a place, of course. But you still have to be careful. One day I was tending our plot with the kids. I hunted for ripe tomatoes while they picked and played in the bean tepee nearby. Suddenly it was a little too quiet. "Daniel?" I called. Hearing no reply, I looked up and there he was, straddling the top of the chain-link fence around the garden, teetering 8 feet above the concrete sidewalk on the other side.
Lesson No. 1: Determined children can find something dangerous to do in any environment, no matter how safe it seems.
But by far my biggest blunder this year was growing radishes. I did it in good faith, following the advice of all the authoritative books on gardening with children. Plant radishes with kids, they all say, because they grow fast enough to hold a preschooler's attention. Be careful with carrots and corn, the garden gurus caution. If you make the kids wait too long to enjoy the fruits (and vegetables) of their labor, they'll wander off and become addicted to video games before their love of gardening has a chance to take root.
Following this expert consensus, I planted radish seeds with Daniel this spring. He was so excited as he eagerly turned the soil with his little shovel, added compost and carefully planted the seeds in a neat row. Imagine his joy when little sprouts sprang from the ground after just a couple days. And the boy's attention span never faltered. He proudly watered, weeded and admired his row. The fun and anticipation grew apace with the plants.
Finally, yet only about three weeks later, the big day arrived. Harvest time! Daniel was beside himself with excitement about eating something he grew himself. These gardening books are right on target, I thought. The reward comes so soon, he'll surely be hooked on gardening for life.
Daniel triumphantly pulled up a big radish. Rinsed off with the hose, it glistened beautifully in the morning sun. Its rich red color must have made it look more delicious than candy to him. I snipped off the root tip and leaves, and Daniel beamed with admiration at his creation. Here comes the payoff for both of us, I thought. He gets to enjoy a delicious vegetable he grew himself, and I get to celebrate instilling the values of working with nature and eating healthy local food.
My sweet little boy wanted so much to like the taste of his homegrown treat that he exclaimed "Yum!" as soon as he popped the radish into his mouth. But then he bit into it, and an instant later the smile fell away, and his face contorted into a grimace of shock and betrayal.
"Oh!" he screamed. "It burns! It burns!" He frantically spat out the spicy chunks with one of those "How could you do this to me, Daddy?" looks on his face.
Lesson No. 2: Don't believe everything you read in newspapers and gardening books.
After that experience, he wouldn't even try the cherry tomatoes, which really are as sweet as candy. When I offer them, he replies with a "Yeah, right" expression that shows he doesn't want to get burned again. So I'll wait for next year, hoping his memory of this trauma will fade and he'll regain his desire to explore the garden and taste its delights. I can picture him out there already, wandering among the foliage, choosing from all the shiny, inviting treats hanging from the plants and happily popping one into his ...
"No, Daniel! Stop! That's a jalapeño!"
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