Gardening is in my blood. I had a grandfather who amassed acres of land turning it into farmland in South Plainfield, NJ and I grew up running through fields of vegetables, and fruit orchards from the time I was four years old. We ate fresh gagoots (zucchini) that grew like baseball bats and corn shooting up to tower above fences. The Italian immigrants harvested huge barrels of tomatoes that my grandmother cooked down in the garage to make sauce she canned for the rest of the year. Think of the fragrances that were carried by the summer winds. Peppers, eggplants, watermelons. I'm sure there was more, but my child like mind was fascinated by climbing trees for the luscious apples. In winter, the pumpkins and the skating with our slippery galoshes across an icy pond. Nothing but pasture land enveloped our small village of ranch homes and farmland.
Those were the days when you could catch fireflies on a summer night in a jar and let them free after watching them glow. Those were the days picking concord grapes from the vine,squeezing the tough purple skins and slurping them into my mouth. I relished watching my grandfather pick snails up from the ground he would cook in his stew. The word babaluche stuck in my head although the correct terminology is Lumache. Perhaps it was his Sicilian dialect. I had no idea how he prepared them in some kind of tomato sauce, but I acknowledge the affinity for snails followed me all my adult life. Mostly smothered in garlic buttery sauce. The Greeks and the French make sure their seal is broken, and they are boiled in salted water for 20 minutes, then that water is changed several times until the green slime is lost. Finally cooked, it is covered with wine in a bowl until used in stews.
When our seven family members made the exodus from the east coast to California, in the cramped Ford station wagon with the wood panels, many of us old enough to realize, felt a profound sadness. As if we lost some part of our spirit once living among nature never to be revitalized. It was held in memory but never forgotten. Consequently, my father planted a patch of garden vegetables and most certaintly, Italian herbs.
Now, as an older adult, I weep for the lack of interest in gardening in our young generation. Putting hands into the soil is like being touched by Mother Creation. How can you not be changed in some profound way?
We found property eight years ago in the canyons. A developer had cleared part of a mountain that could have, may have, contained elements not found in most areas. I thought at the time, well, Gold was discovered just miles from here before Sutters Mill. Could there be gold in them thar hills? After the building of the house and the clearing away of debris, I answered myself. No. Just rotten clay soil that killed four of my trees that I planted and numerous vegetables. Frustration took hold and I almost gave up with the added problem of critters coming down into the canyon. I felt violated even though I wanted so badly to be part of the environment.
My husband and son gave me a gift. They spent a day under a summer sun on the other side of the iron fencing digging a tightly woven chicken wire fence that would most certaintly prevent anything, including possums and rabbits, from entering our yard, save the birds. The thirty foot extreme drop on the other side of the fence was too annoying to coyotes. For the first time, our bushes were not munched on and our flowers thrived.
Soil still being unusable, we invested in Earthboxes. We secured eight, followed the directions and planted away. We have six massive tomato plants, two eggplant plants, six various cucumber plants, six various pepper plants, four zucchini plants and we are enjoying at long last, a clean, easy to manage garden. My mind is already twirling with ideas for the winter garden. I hope to have several boxes devoted to lettuce. I am looking forward to kale, chard, broccoli, peas, cauliflower, spinach and more. This is the most ideal pest free manner of gardening and it brings forth abundance, continually. Just when I am thinking well, looks like the zucchini is done, bata bing, another two or three shoots become a surprise to my eyes. Do I recommend this type of gardening to everyone? oh yeah.
