Two Feet of Real Estate

I get up early on Saturday mornings to go to the local farmer's market. It used to have 20 or so stalls by all the local farmers. One couple always attracts a huge crowd because they grow Ambrosia. Never heard of it? Here it is:

OK, where's the butter? I'm sooo hungry now.

Of course it's too early for corn yet. It's been a cool spring and summer here and it's too early even for the tomatoes.

We lived on five acres growing up. Dad always planted a huge garden. Even though he hated tomatoes, he would begin planting dozens of tomato seeds every February. I never smell a tomato plant (yes they DO smell) without thinking about him. I've even considered a time or two about planting one by his grave, but the thought of digging in a graveyard is a little too Stephen King for me.

Beginning this time of year, we only had to step a few feet outside and bring in fresh corn, tomatoes, green beans, those nasty things we used to call mangoes, but are now considered to be green peppers. We may not have had alot growing up, but we ate well, especially in the summer.

Although my friends tell me I now live in the country, I know better. I live in a rural suburb where everyone has an acre or two. OK, there ARE cows behind us, but that still doesn't count.

I miss having a garden, but it's nice at least being able to buy locally grown fruits and vegetables. The farmers market was normally packed and you have to go right at the time they open or the best things will be gone.

Politics ended up getting in the middle of the market this year. Apparently the "downtown" restaurants began to complain because some began selling breads and homemade foods. So they ended up splitting the market. Most went to the fairgrounds, which allowed the food. So far only two have shown up in the downtown area and there is no crowd.

I spoke with the older couple that will sell the Ambrosia when it's ripe. Apparently they would have had to pay rent at the fairgrounds, a tidy sum. Hey, I'm gonna follow the Ambrosia guy, no matter where he goes.

I do have a bit of "land" where I can always grow tomatoes. It gets messy because Bob puts the tomato cages up in the attic and by the time he gets around to getting them for me, it's too late. Last weekend he said, "Oh yeah, I'll get those cages for you." I said, "Are you crazy? You can't put tomato cages on these things now." Although that is EXACTLY what he did to my poor tomato plants last year.

I didn't mention that Bob doesn't like tomatoes either, did I?

So, he grouses about the tomato plants because this is the BEST place they grow.




THIS is my two feet of gardening real estate. Guess he should have gotten the cages out when I asked, huh?

I decided to just plant cherry tomatoes this year. Every night I come home and there are just a handful that are ripe. When I was a kid, I would have just plopped them in my mouth out in the garden. Now, instead I wait until I've washed them off.

Which leads me to my "Bob's a City Slicker" story. About ten years ago, some of our neighbor friends lived around the corner and always had a huge garden. We had taken some plastic bags and I went to pick some green beans. I told Bob to get some of the corn a few rows over.

A couple minutes later he comes up and says, "I think something's wrong, this corn doesn't look right."

There he was, holding a pristine white-silked baby ear of corn.

I was appalled.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

He had picked the second ear on the stalk. How could he not know that? He seems to know how to do everything else, but getting around in a garden? Not so much.

I threw the tiny, wasted ear of corn down and said, "Get out of the garden, you City Slicker."

Geez.