Garden Wars
AS MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND APPROACHED, the raised garden beds stared at me from the side yard. There was work to be done—sweaty, dirty, physically demanding work—and I was putting it off. The weather wasn’t helping, deciding that hitting north of 90 in May was somehow called for. In my New Englander opinion, that’s never called for.
Let me fill you in on why I was wallowing in procrastination. It’s entirely possible some alien life form is growing beneath our house, as every year we have to hack, pull, cut and wrest an outrageous quantity of roots from the earth. My husband’s parents, who are far more accomplished at growing things than we are, are always astounded. I consider them farming experts, so if they’re baffled, something truly weird must be going on below the unassuming lawn surface.
Each spring, they bring us plants—tomatoes, peppers and herbs this year—grown from seeds in their greenhouse. Whatever else we feel like adding, I source from my favorite local spots, usually LaValley Farms in Hooksett. It turns out I remain incapable of buying a reasonable number of squash and zucchini plants. I’m sure the neighbors will be delighted by the return of the mysterious mailbox vegetable fairy.
Unable to delay the inevitable, my husband and I gloved up, grabbed the shovel and a truly ridiculous stack of yard waste bags, and got to it. Shovelful after shovelful of dirt revealed huge clumps of roots. We shook them, beat them with the shovel, ripped them out with our hands—every bit of soil counts when you have to lug bags of it to refill what the roots steal.
Extremely annoying bugs somewhere between the size of gnats and mosquitoes took turns biting me and flying up my nose and into my eyes. My legs hurt, and my back was unamused. It also turns out I remain incapable of remembering to put on sunscreen for my annual first foray back into the great outdoors. Freckles combined with weird streaks of sunburn and pale skin is not a cute look.
Remember the Great Squirrel Boom and Subsequent Massacre? Well, we’re in the boom part of the Cute but Irritating Rabbit Invasion of 2022. Sit on my patio for 10 minutes just before dusk and I guarantee you’ll see at least three rabbits. I should start charging tourists for rabbit watches (it works with whales and moose). As far as I’m concerned, they don’t fear people nearly enough, and the other day I watched one practically taunt a leashed dog. So now we’ve added waist-high fences to the process (and expense list).
Why do we do this? We don’t need to grow food, and I’m pretty sure my neighbors aren’t actually eagerly awaiting random appearances of squash. We also have a number of flowers and other inedible plants, all of which require care and watering on top of vegetable maintenance (not to mention bunny vigilance on all fronts). I also don’t really know what I’m doing, but thus far, winging it has resulted in more bounty than we can stand to eat. The day when I can’t even bear to look at another tomato is coming fast.
But the truth is, I like it. An aching back, stiff legs, crispy shoulders, watery eyes, neighbors who see you coming with armloads of veggies and cross the street—it’s all worth it. In fact, those small tribulations are part of the charm, a badge of honor.
It’s satisfying to eat things you tended (and defended from adorable, cotton-tailed nemeses). The fruits of your labor really do just taste better.
I suspect I’m not the only amateur gardener out there, and I wish you good luck this season. But no, I don’t want your extra squash.
ethoits@nhmagazine.com
