by April May Maple

Created on: February 17, 2009   Last Updated: March 13, 2009

It was the summer of 88, the summer of my first garden. That summer marked many changes in my life and as the garden grew, I grew as well. We had moved from our towering apartment complex to a small white house, without my father; just mom, sister, baby brother and I. It was okay though, we lived in a white house just like the president. Well at least that is what Crystal and I would tell each other.

We had a yard for the very first time, a real yard. We did not have to share our yard with the mean kid that threw rocks and laughed at my name. The changes caused a sense of excitement that only a naive five year old could happily accept.

Mom wanted to make the best of what we had, so we grew a garden. It started as a huge rectangle of earth, empty and barren. We did the work by hand, digging the rows and planting the seeds. Soon corn stalks shot up, creating a looming fence along the back edge. Watermelon and squash vines curled and crept out into the yard. Tomato plants blossomed yellow flowers that matured into tomatoes of all sizes, from cherry to beef steak. Our green beans hung from a trellis made of twine, while the zucchinis and cucumbers competed for space, sweet peas and hot peppers filled in whatever room remained.

We spent almost the entire summer outside, and I had the freckles to show it. Weeding was such tedious and tiring work. Afterwards we would dance in the sprinklers, enjoying our mock rain as much as the plants. We had so much fun that year that we hardly noticed something was missing.

The garden was more than just plants; it was an educational experience. I learned more from that garden than my mom intended. Vegetables do not come from a can. The best way to eat green beans and peas is straight from the vine. I do not like zucchini, even when it is battered and fried. Watermelon is my favorite, still to this day. Did you know I am allergic to spiders? Well, I didn't, not until one bit me in the garden and my forearm swelled up like Popeye's. I discovered that I didn't like the emergency room either, all because of the garden.

The garden was almost as much work as taking care of my baby brother and taught me about diligence, and more importantly that the harder you work the better it feels when you can kick back and enjoy what you have accomplished. It would have been all too easy to buy vegetables, but would they have tasted as good?

I also learned not to judge by appearance. That naked patch of land and a few envelopes of twenty-five cent seeds did not seem worth the magnificent bounty they produced. We had some of the best vegetables and even better memories. Always take pictures of memories in the making, because we have none of our garden, no way to look back or share with future generations.

It showed me that the small act of accomplishing something together as a family strengthens what you have and helps dull the pain of what is lacking. We had something to be proud of as a family.

Always make do with what you have and be grateful, we did not know the garden was because we did not have much money for food. Mom always smiled in the garden, with her hair pulled back and sleeves rolled up. We could not see she was hurting, and worried about what the future held. The tears she shed at night went unnoticed; we did not know this was surviving.

I shall always grow a garden with a fence of corn stalks and watermelon vines creeping in the yard. There will be tomatoes and peppers, the hotter the better because that is the way my husband likes them. We will eat green beans and sweet peas straight from the vine. I will let my children learn the lessons only a garden can teach.

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