by Susan Morris

Created on: June 03, 2008   Last Updated: July 19, 2009

Last year, I convinced my husband Michael to help me start a backyard vegetable garden. "It will be good for the boys," I said. "Gardening is the kind of experience every child should have." "We live in the desert, where it can get up to 115 degrees Fahrenheit in summer, and we have a backyard the size of a postage stamp," he reminded me. I was undeterred.

We organized a trip to the largest plant nursery and landscaping store in town. A gardening wonderland, the owners keep ancient desert tortoises, exotic birds, and a placid tabby cat among the acres of plants and gardening products. They even have a pond with a waterfall and a school of koi. After wandering through orchards of potted trees and marveling at all the innovative products for the gardening consumer, we stopped at the seed display and let our children pick out whatever they wanted. They chose cucumbers, turnips, cantaloupe, acorn squash, carrots, Brussels sprouts, watermelon, pumpkin and three kinds of tomatoes. We enthusiastically picked out tomato cages and peat starter sets.

"That's more than I thought we would spend," Michael said as he pulled out his wallet. In shock, I replied, "But think of the money we'll save in home grown vegetables."

Famous last words.

Chubby little fingers carefully placed seeds in the center of peat discs, and each day the children eagerly checked them. They were so excited when the plants began to sprout!

"We're planting these way too close together," I told my husband, my back sore from digging. We both knew we weren't doing it right. It was more about the journey than the destination. The boys played in the dirt, our purpose forgotten. That didn't stop me from imagining them proudly gathering fresh produce.

Through early summer, we brought in tomatoes and cucumbers nearly every day. As the tomatoes grew more vigorous, we discovered that we had placed the tomato cages upside down. It didn't matter though. When the July heat set in, the plants seemed tired. Soon they stopped producing.

One day the turnips lay down and refused to get up. An inspection revealed masses of aphids. "I'll sprinkle them with diatomaceous earth," I said, smug in my refusal to use toxic chemicals. The next day, the little green demons were back, and the turnips were toast.

We returned to the garden store, to ask for help with our languishing tomatoes and aphid infestation. "Where did you place your tomato plants?" asked the expert on duty. I told him. "They should be fine,"

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