by Ron N. Sullivan

Created on: February 21, 2009   Last Updated: March 13, 2009

MRS. PEG'S GARDEN

"My God, what happened to the garden?"

My wife's words from the summer of 1983 still echo in my head. A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens best describes my first experience in the gardening world: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of....well, gardening.

The sun rose bright and strong for my wife and I that early spring of 1982. We had just purchased three acres on Canada's West Coast in southern British Columbia.

"You always read about it," my wife mused. "But to actually think you would ever be part of it..." She turned to me. "And on an island, no less. Is this for real? Pinch me."

I'm sure my wife's scream could be heard clear across Georgia Strait as our ferryboat plodded toward our new home that brisk spring day. It took a year to build our early 1800s style farmhouse and get it to a point where it was livable - but we did it. At that point our country life shifted into high gear. It was a week or two after we moved into the house that my wife mentioned the "G" word.

"Garden," she beamed. "A vegetable garden. Fresh, delicious veggies whenever we want them. And right outside our door. Can you imagine?"

Well, I could imagine; and within the month...

"Wow," my wife shouted. "It sure is a...big garden."

Sure, I suppose 20 feet by 40 feet is big to some people, but to me it spelled the probability of having tons of wonderful homegrown vegetables throughout the year. No more squeezing, poking and examining the grocery store produce. No more trying to find the perfect vegetable - only to get home and yell, "These tomatoes taste lousy."

We placed the garden down in the front of the property where the sun performed best. With a little advice here and some common sense there, we dug, we watered, we weeded, we watched and we sprinkled some good thoughts on that garden of ours. We could only hope that it would blossom into the productive dynamo we couldn't stop talking about.

We started harvesting and sampling some of our bountiful treasures later that summer.

"Incredible," I said, stuffing some red cherry tomatoes into my mouth. "These things actually explode with flavor."

My wife was no less energetic. "I think I've died and gone to heaven," she said, her eyes half-closed, complementing the sublime look on her face. "Here, taste these peas. Have you ever?" She cracked open another pea pod and popped the row of peas into her mouth. As an after thought she said, "Oh, what the hell," and proceeded

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