I was a tiny bit overprotective when my first son was born. He never touched a floor without me first throwing down a freshly laundered blanket. I bundled him up in three layers and then covered him up with a blanket before leaving the house. That was September; you can imagine what January looked like. Then he started crawling… Ok, really he would just drag himself across the floor with one arm; we called it “the army-crawl”. I was still learning to let go of the utopia I had created for him when I walked into the kitchen one day and found my precious baby covered in compost! He had “crawled” over to the kitchen cabinet, found my compost bucket and dumped it all over himself. Sticky onion peels were glued to his bald head, coffee grounds covered his face and tiny hands. I looked down at him in shock; he smiled back at me with an accomplished grin.
My horror quickly turned to joy as I realized this was just the beginning of the fun we would to have together. He had rolled in compost and survived it; what else could this tiny human endure? Until now, he’d watched from his stroller while I planted seed, hoed weeds and harvested dinner from our large vegetable garden. It suddenly felt cruel to keep him from joining in on the fun. From that point on he was my constant companion in the garden. He put things in his mouth that didn’t belong there, he was dirty more often than he was clean; we were known to skip play dates and skip to the backyard garden instead. In summary, this kid was having real fun. Not the kind of fun we create at amusement parks and movie theaters, but the kind of fun that just exists all on its own. He was exploring nature, learning the seasons, touching plants, and eating real food.
My second son was luckier, he joined us in the garden long before he could crawl. The feel of soil in his tiny hands, the warmth of the sun and the smell of fresh herbs have always been a part of his life. As the boys get older their interest in the vegetable garden comes and goes. They like to help plant in the spring then tend to forget about the garden until there are peas to eat. The first time we can harvest enough fresh basil to make pesto is always a celebration; the second harvest is taken for granted. But just when I think they have forgotten the garden I’ll catch them walking their friends out to show them around; proudly offering up fresh strawberries or cherry tomatoes. They like to play hide and seek in the popcorn and make a teepee out of the pole beans, they do not like to help weed.
I’m not worried when their interests take them away from the vegetable patch, they will always have a strong bond to their food and to nature because the garden is there. That garden is a daily part of our lives weather we are eating canned spaghetti sauce on a cold January night or fresh salsa on a summer evening. My kids will always know where real food comes from, they will know how to prepare it, how to preserve it and how to appreciate it.
