I’m not fifty yet, but something in my left knee keeps telling me that it won’t be long before AARP magazines come fluttering along the summer breeze and land safely on my front door. Is it weird that I’m kind of interested in what they have to say? Maybe they’ll tell me how I can qualify for the Senior Olympics, or about some good hobbies men my age like (other than golf), or maybe, just maybe, they’ll teach me how to grow a vegetable. Because that would be cool. For reasons I’m still coming to terms with, I have a new and profound interest in wanting to grow things I can eat, and I’m hopeful this will sustain my interest longer than the Birdfeeder Wars of 2020.
I’m not exactly sure what straw broke the camel’s back—maybe it was reading about all of the pesticides they are putting on our strawberries—but one day I woke up, looked out the window and thought: maybe I should start a farm. Considering the only thing I had grown in my entire life were some pumpkins about twenty years ago, this was a big jump. Asking myself to reconsider, I said, “Maybe we just try to grow something. Anything.” This, I agreed, sounded more reasonable. As long as I was doing something to appease this newfound desire, I was on board. It was like some natural instinct was taking over, deep in my DNA that said: we must generate something to compensate for the degeneration happening within. I know. Yikes. Pretty maudlin. I’m not even sure if that’s it. It’s just a guess.
Since I was totally new to the exercise of growing food, I decided that in order to make this idea get proper backing, I needed to recruit some fellow gardeners. Fortunately, my wife was 100% on board from jump street—even more so than me—so for Christmas I bought her a Gardyn hydroponic garden. I thought it would be a fun thing for us to try together and see if we can actually grow something. I also thought something foolproof like the Gardyn system would be helpful because our track record isn’t the greatest when it comes to raising plants of any kind in our yard. Killing plants, we know how to do. Growing them? Not so much.
But I’m happy to report, after several months of experimentation, we’ve been able to produce some things I was brave enough to put in my mouth. We’ve had great success with some lettuce varieties and some herbs, and it’s been a thrill to add stuff like red mustard lettuce to my sandwiches. I didn’t even know red mustard lettuce existed until the good people at Gardyn told me about it. (Did I mention I’m new at this?)
After such initial success, I thought I’d spice things up over these last two months and tackle fruits and some more considerable vegetables. Not knowing a thing about how much light they’d need, or how big they would grow, I added banana peppers, cherry tomatoes (both red and yellow), mini cucumbers, strawberries and mini pumpkins to the Gardyn system mix. I put in some sunflowers and marigold as well, only to see if I could actually grow a flower despite the field of evidence in our backyard. And finally, I added a few more lettuces, such as red mustard, assuring myself of some future success since it was clear I already knew how to grow those.
And the results?
Look at that sunflower, will ya? (Disregard the yellowing leaf from when I forgot to water.)
It’s going well! No, I haven’t produced any peppers yet, and my mini pumpkins didn’t even attempt to grow a hint of a leaf. And no, no strawberries have emerged and the cherry tomatoes have only just begun after two months of coddling, but one vegetable has come forth and announced its presence with authority. With stalks bowing out long enough to reach the floor, it looks as if it has arms and hopes to push the Gardyn unit off the ground, and attempt to hand walk itself outside.
And what is this mighty vegetable, you ask? The mighty mighty mini cucumber of course! Ranging between three and four inches long, I discovered them when I was trimming some dead leaves. They were just hanging there, fully obscured by the rest of the greenery dangling about the Gardyn. “Holy shit,” I said to no one, “look at those cucumbers!” Four of them! I was so excited. And I’m not even interested in cucumbers. Before this moment I thought they were quite possibly one of the most boring vegetables on earth.
Well, not anymore.
When I discovered my four little cucumbers, I secretly named them Huey, Dewey, Louie and Donald. I didn’t say their names out loud or tell my wife about this, lest she think I’m getting stranger by the second, but I thought such worthy first creations deserved names. As a result, I almost felt guilty eating them, but then I thought, Hey, they were just going to go bad, and I can always grow more.
Because I’m a grower of things! Is there anything more life-affirming than that?
I’ve been trying to understand my excitement these past few days, and I think I’m starting to circle the wagons on it. Yes, there are increasingly more news stories about the harms done to our food supplies, which has made me think it might be good to learn how to create some healthy food. And yes, maybe my ageing body is instinctually looking for ways to bring forth life to make up for what I’m losing (Still dark, Matt, but okay). But I think the most likely reason is because of what happens to most of us parents when we approach the half-century mark: our kids start moving out. After eighteen years of tending to their growth, they’re now off to grow themselves, without our help. We can maybe offer little bits of advice here and there. Maybe keep an eye out from afar, hoping our instincts stay sharp enough so that we can swoop in if we sense trouble, but otherwise, it’s time for us to let that part of our garden go unattended for longer periods of time.
So what are we supposed to do with all of that energy? With that habit we’ve formed to nurture and care, without wanting any return for the effort other than to see them step forward into life? To see them grow and become something from nothing? How do we shut that part of ourselves off? Can we? And if we can, why should we? We did some good, didn’t we? Shouldn’t we do some more of it? I’m starting to think this is the real reason why I want to grow some things. That, and because if jobs start disappearing and AI robots really do take over the world, it might not be such a bad idea to learn what our ancestors knew, long before we became dependent on processed chemicals I can’t pronounce.
Of course, raising vegetables is nothing compared to raising children, or ideas, or dreams, but it is a continuation of the learning process. Of the development of who we are and our need to produce life. Sweet, beautiful life. And when we see the fruits of our labor (pun intended), how can we not feel encouraged to do it again and again? Because we are givers of life—all of us, parent or not—and tending a garden puts us in deeper connection with that. It also raises some questions, as you have time to ponder the soil and the casting of light at different times of day. Things like, what else can we grow beyond our gardens? For others and ourselves? And how much more can we grow? Will one seed keep giving after the initial harvest?
Having checked on my Gardyn this morning, I can tell you, two more little mini cucumbers are coming forth as we speak.