Growing up in New Jersey, the self-proclaimed Garden State, it was hard
to find anyone who did not have a garden. From Newark to Atlantic
City, gardens of all sizes and shapes graced the landscape. Big
gardens, small gardens, container gardens and even a roof top garden
could be found without much of a search. My Dad had a larger sized
one, growing zucchini, beans, Swiss chard, raspberries, corn and the
pies de resistance, “Jersey” tomatoes. It actually is an unwritten
rule in New Jersey; your garden must contain “Jersey” tomatoes. I’m
not sure what happens if you don’t plant them. Perhaps a visit from
one of the real life “Sopranos”. No one dares test it. We all just
put them in, dutifully, as though the State’s legendary garden status
depends on it. We water and weed, and by mid to late July, are knee
deep in fresh produce.
We hit the jackpot when we moved into our house a few years ago and
found out that our neighbors and now dear friends were not only animal
lovers and fellow chicken enthusiasts, but gardeners extraordinaire.
She maintains a magnificent flower garden, one that was part of the
local “Garden Tour” a number of years back. He is the vegetable guy,
the Joe Carcione
of the neighborhood. Way back in February and March he begins his
seed planting, sowing flats and flats of vegetables, herbs, flowers and
yes, tomatoes. I am envious of his green thumb. Laying in wait in the
backyard greenhouse, the little sprouts put in their time and respond
to his loving care growing into the healthiest of starts, ready to hit
the soil.
And then, you know what happens? My gardener neighbor does what all
gardeners do, what they are bred to do in their gardener genes, he
shares. Without even the slightest amount of begging on my part, he
sets six packs of starts on the fence, sharing the hard work he has
done over the months so that we can have a bountiful garden as well,
tomato plants, peppers of every size and color, zinnias, marigolds and
sunflowers for the taking. As the season wanes on, basketfuls of fresh
zucchini, tomatoes or chard find their way on to summer meals on the
deck, shared over a glass of wine and some great conversation. Fresh
food, right from the source.
Funny how I never really appreciated Dad’s garden as a kid. We groused
about having to pick green beans, we laughed about the 1,001 ways mom
made swiss chard (raisins and tomato sauce?) and there was always the
rhetorical question, “We’re having zucchini again? Didn’t we just have
it yesterday (and the day before and the day before that)? We really
didn’t have a clue how lucky we were. It wasn’t just about eating the
vegetables, per se, it was about something much bigger than just a few
beans or yellow squash. It was about the whole planting, watering,
growing, eating, sharing, gardening zen thing. And now I, the fully
grown vegetable that I am, finally get it.
This is the greatest thing about gardening. The more you grow, the
more you can share. There is perhaps no greater joy to a gardener than
offering a basket of your best produce to a friend and, no greater gift
than receiving some of theirs. A simple act of kindness that has a
profound effect on others, on nurturing friendship and growing a sense
of community.
In just a few months I’ll bite into a juicy tomato sandwich,
reminiscing about days gone by and grateful for the gift of the
gardener next door.
