Summer's Bounty — CMB Post

This was originally posted on the now defunct Chicago Moms Blog.

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not much of a gardener (OK, huge understatement). But this summer, everywhere I look, I see growth.

It's true. Each time I walk into my kitchen, a new crop of dishes has sprouted. Bowls and cups are especially plentiful this season, but the silverware must also be pruned regularly, lest it overrun the countertops.

Summer is only half over, and already the piles of laundry are as high as an elephant's eye. In theory, shorts and t-shirts are smaller than sweatshirts and jeans, and therefore should mean less laundry. In reality, sweaty play results in more changes of clothes, not to mention the trips to the pool and the beach, so the harvest of summer laundry has actually outpaced the winter crop.

Towels, which here-to-fore have restricted their growth to the bathroom floor, are proliferating throughout the house like colorful ground cover. Bath towels, hand towels and especially beach towels are the creeping phlox of my indoor garden.

I shouldn't really be surprised by the fecundity of my summer garden. After all, since the first thaw, the entire family has tracked in layer after layer of top soil each time they traipse through the house.

With all six of us home this summer, our grocery bills have more than doubled their yield compared to the previous three seasons, and show no signs of stopping. While mild temperatures have limited the amount of beverages required for irrigation, the increased feed for the livestock has more than taken up any surplus.

Outside, in addition to the huge assortment of perennial summer toys and equipment that began to emerge along with the daffodils, this year's annuals include one new bike, several balls, a frisbee, and a new hammock. No matter how often we weed, they continue to mushroom across the lawn.

Yes, it's been a bountiful summer season, and with August just around the corner, I predict bumper crops of school supplies, doctor bills and new shoes. We are truly blessed.

This is an original Chicago Moms Blog post. When Susan Bearman isn't tending her family garden plot, she can be found writing at Two Kinds of People and The Animal Store Blog.

Nature Bats Last

"But make no mistake: the weeds will win; nature bats last."

— Robert Michael Pyle

writer, naturalist, lepidopterist

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who love to garden and those who don't. 

Let's be clear: I'm no garden ho'. I wish I loved gardening, I really do. I truly appreciate a beautiful garden, and I love the idea of gardening. But actual gardening — not so much. My perennials perennially perish, my vegetable garden is fruitless, and my annuals barely take root.

My mom had a magnificent garden at her last house in Michigan, complete with herbs, flowering trees, bordering perennials, and even a koi pond (thanks to my husband) teeming with colorful fish and water plants. She assured me that gardening when you have young children is too much to ask of anyone, but that once my children were grown and gone, I, too, would love to garden. That was right before she and my dad moved to Florida — primarily to get away from any form of garden or lawn care.

I've been doing a lot of walking in my neighborhood this spring and summer (trying to convince myself that exercise, like gardening, is good for me — but that's another post). What passes for spring in Chicago came late this year, but by now the gardens have been painted into the landscape. While bulbs and lilacs may have faded, roses are gushing and peonies are panting to break loose from their confining rings.

Even the annuals are filling in nicely — in other people's gardens, thank you very much. My daughter and I planted a flat and a half of begonia's around the base of our "small" tree, and they still look puny and separated, not the lush pink area rug of blossoms I had envisioned.

Last summer, I ventured one cherry tomato plant in a pot. It cost me $2.48 and yielded about nine edible fruits, which would probably have run me about $2.48 at Dominick's, so it was basically a wash. This year, we tried two tomato plants (one has since passed away); herbs, including basil, rosemary and lemon balm (all doing quite nicely in their containers); and, at my daughter's insistence, a bell pepper plant. I have no idea how to grow peppers. Do I need to pinch? Prune? Deadhead? Oh, well, we bought the $1.98 version, so we won't be out that much when it bites the dust.

I kind of like the "container garden" thing. They're easy to plant, require little maintenance and look lovely on the porch steps. It almost appears as if a real gardener lives in our house — until you see my neighbor's garden, two doors north. 

Can you say obsessive-compulsive? The guy (and his gardener) are always tinkering (or is it puttering when you are in the garden?) — planting something new here, moving this plant over there. Sure it's beautiful, but who has that kind of time and energy? Self-employed people with no kids, who have enough money to hire a gardener, that's who.

I would garden if you could do it only three times a year: 

1. that first perfect day in March, when you are so happy to be outside after the long winter that you kill yourself doing yard work and can't move for the next week; 
   
2. one planting session sometime after Mother's day, when you are finally sure the last frost has passed, and you feel supremely satisfied about getting everything in the ground that you were tempted into buying at the local garden center;
   
3. a single 1-to-2-hour weeding session in mid-to-late July, after you have sufficiently recovered from the May planting session, but while it still seems worthwhile to spend time on plants that are just going to die in the fall anyway.
   

I know to many of you this kind of thinking verges on sacrilege. I know I'm supposed to care about the inextricable relationship between humans and plants. I know this because I read Michael Pollan's fabulous treatise, The Botany of Desire: A Plant's-Eye View of the World. I know I'm supposed to want to grow and eat my own vegetables, because Barbara Kingsolver made me feel guilty about it in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life.

But here's the thing — I'm allergic to insect bites. I've tried to find passion in the rich, brown soil of the garden, but all I've found is dirt under my fingernails. I've searched for satisfaction in a good day's worth of gardening, but all I have discovered are sore knees and screeching lower back pain.

Isn't it enough that I can appreciate the beauty and bounty that a well-tended garden yields — preferably through my picture window, or in a vase on my coffee table, or overflowing from the rich, brown depths of my wooden salad bowl? 

A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counselor, a multitude of counselors.

— Charles Baudelaire, French Poet (1821-1867)

What's your gardening story — death or glory? Click here to tell us about it. And if you find your vegetable garden overfloweth, we will gratefully accept any and all surpluses.

See my latest Chicago Moms Blog post on the recent spate of celebrity deaths by clicking here. 

Photos: Tulips in Chicago and Pot Garden in Florida; 2kop.