When I was sixteen I wanted to be a hippie like Jenny from Forrest Gump except without the domestic violence and heroin later on. Mostly I wanted her outfits, and to move to San Francisco and write poetry and wear flowers in my hair. It was all very awkward and embarrassing and I discovered that I need to actually brush my hair for it to not look like a nest for many small rodents, I don’t like Birkenstocks, and meat can be really, really tasty.
The hangover from that badly dressed time is a fantasy in which I am able to live in a cozy little house on a large plot of land (overlooking the ocean and not far from the water slides) and all my friends are there and we have goats and kittens and grow our own tomatoes and make cheese and bake bread and do artistic things in the sunshine. There is a permanent rainbow. And we never have to buy anything.
So when Nick’s friend from work, Kerri, offered us a plot in her garden, I imagined us becoming completely self-sufficient, most likely by September. In my mind, we were sitting in dirt, eating perfect vegetables fresh from the ground, and singing something by, like, Jefferson Airplane or Iron and Wine or something. In the background, the kittens and baby goats were frolicking, and the escalating chords of a movie soundtrack were bringing us to that revelatory moment, the climax of our entire lives, and it was carrots.
I went to the garden shop and bought seven kinds of seeds, and then we went to Kerri’s house and she showed us to our plot, which was bigger than I anticipated. She said it would take us a little over an hour, but thanks to Nick and my two to three hilarious jokes about Nick’s instincts for gardening stemming from his Dutch heritage, we had the whole thing weeded and turned and hoed in under an hour. We made a path of bricks, and then laid what was probably too many seeds in tidy little rows marked with popsicle sticks.
A great day. And my shrieking and enthusiasm didn’t even ruin it, for once.
So, please think happy thoughts for me. We planted late, and lack experience. I see no reason why we still shouldn’t end up with so many veggies.
well fed, flat broke 
Good luck! With this weather, your choices will do just fine! Your fantasy life and mine are quite similar, except my fantasy life includes chickens that lay eggs every day and then jump into the soup pot self-plucked.
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I love the garden! Is it going to get lots of sun?
A lot of our stuff is coming in pretty slowly. I’ve got to think about some organic fish fertilizer in there, or something.
I also have a soft spot for Birkenstocks.
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Lara: I forgot the chickens! Yes, I want those too. Emphasis on self-plucking.
Rafferty: It is! Apparently it should get quite a lot of morning light. We didn’t add fertilizer – should we have? We quite literally have no idea what we’re doing. Except for Dutch Nick. I am sure he must know, deep in that orange heart of his.
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Yay! I didn’t get vegetables started in my garden this year — it rained mightily when I wanted to plant, and then I didn’t have energy to water plants (I know, that’s pathetic, but I had the first trimester sleepies.) We let the weeds come up and took out the ugly ones: the strange ones that had been on notice for months turned out to be gorgeous hollyhocks, so … success!
Em, totally off topic, if you make my kimchi, you will want to spice it up. It’s soooooooo mild, this batch. 😉
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Oh my God lemon cucumbers and chard and kale? I want to come live in the garden as a little mousey, nibbling.
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I wish we had a little garden area at our apartment. The best I can do is maybe grow some herbs on an indoor windowsill and live vicariously through people like you.
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You can all come live with me! We are going to have such a feast. I know it.
Jake, you should see if they have community garden plots in Toronto. That’s not what we have, but the ones here are pretty rad, and new ones are popping up all the time! We’re lucky, in that Nick’s friend’s place is only about eight blocks away.
Linda – I was thinking of kimchi while riding the bus this morning, and thought – what about those hot little Thai bird chilies? That’d spice it up something fierce.
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I want to be a hippie with you. Let’s start a commune…
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DEAL. You and Evani have to bring your guitars and lead the sing-alongs. But only I may sing the Lady Gaga songs.
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