Seeds of Change

Detroit Dark Red. India Beet. Chioggia. Bastian's Blood Turnip. 

These are the varieties of beet seeds that I carefully planted in April as soon as the ground was no longer the frozen tundra that it so often resembles for much of the year here in Utah.  I dug deep with my shovel, turned over the earth, and lovingly mixed in the compost that I had also gently crafted from the scraps of my organic lunches and dinners over the previous months.  The compost was rich, black, and almost oily, and the earth, as I turned it, was already full of big, fat juicy earthworms.

I am not a farmer.  I don't even pretend to play one on the Internet.  It's been years and years since I had a vegetable garden of any kind.  My last attempt at a garden happened while living in Bonny Doon, years and years ago and resulted in so much Russian Kale that nothing else we planted that year grew.  We had enough Russian Kale to feel all of Russia, surely, but not a tomato or squash to be found.

With all my talk, though, of living a sustainable life, of eating food that is local and organic (if possible), of eating whole foods not processed, it only made sense that now that I live in a home with a yard that could actually host a garden that I should plant and cultivate one. 

So I carefully planned it out.  Six equal rows.  I also carefully only planted the foods that I would actually eat.  It is for this reason that I have a garden that has four different kinds of beets.  Onions.  Two different types of carrots.  Three squashes.  And multiple types of lettuce. 

Back in April, when I mentioned in this blog that I was going to plant a garden, that I was going to try my hand at growing food in my own yard that I might actually be able to eat, one of the readers of this blog contacted me and shared that she had some heirloom tomato seeds and asked me if I'd like to have them for the garden?

How beautiful and kind is that gesture?  I will share that her name is Jeni, that she is from Tennessee, and that her kindness and generosity actually knows no bounds.  She has been a constant source of encouragement and love over the years that I have been writing and as I do with so many of you, I feel so very blessed that she continues to read the words that I manage to somehow scramble from my brain to this blog each week.

So I told Jeni that of course I would love to have her seeds.  That I would plant them, that I would tend to them carefully, that I would call whatever tomatoes resulted, Jeni Tomatoes.

My sister, NeverNakedBeth, tried very hard to stifle her laughter in April when I was showing her my garden, with its neat little rows, and I told her the story of the tomato seeds and where I had planted them.

"Jennifer, those seeds will never grow."

"Of course, they'll grow, NeverNakedBeth.  They're heirloom seeds.  They were saved from other organic tomotoes.  She's not sure what kind they are, but of course they'll grow!"

"Jennifer, nope.  They won't.  We don't grow tomatoes from seed in Utah.  You need to go get plants.  Hearty plants.  This is Utah.  Not California!"

"NeverNakedBeth, is it because it's too cold?  I waited until after the frost.  I waited until I could till the ground myself.  I added in lots of rich, black compost.  I can cover the ground..."

"It has nothing to do with that.  The growing season is just too short.  You're not going to get a plant, much less a tomato.  But don't worry.  I have lots of tomato plants already planted.  I'll share."

I was disheartened.  Jeni had entrusted those seeds to me.  I felt almost like Jack, only I hadn't even traded the seeds for a golden goose egg.  I had just planted them in the soil with love and trust and hope, but without understanding that I was living in a barren desert, that I wasn't in California anymore.

My garden grew.  By the middle of May, Buddha and Stella and I were eating spinach, and kale and all kinds of lettuce nearly every night.  And the beets and carrots and onions all sprung up as their roots grew down and deep with rich ruby reds and oranges and sunburst yellows.

During the second week of June, I was weeding the garden when I noticed what looked like tiny tomato plant starts in the area where I had, in fact, planted Jeni's seeds.  I dismissed the possibility, as NeverNakedBeth, my authority on all things Utah, had insisted those seeds were never going to grow. 

Instead of pulling them up, though, because I'm such an asute organic farmer, I leaned over and SMELLED THEM.  Yes, Internet, there I was, butt high in the air, nose all the way in the dirt, smelling the tiny little plants.  They smelled like a summer farm stand.  They smelled like they needed a little dash of salt.  They smelled like delicious tomatoes.

Har!

Not only did they sprout, but my oh my they have grown and flourished.  I have some of the most beautiful, juicy, delicious, drip down your chin Jeni Tomatoes a naked farm girl could ever hope to have.  Especially in Utah.

Those seeds, the seeds of love that were sent to me from Tennessee, have forever changed me.  I now know, undoubtedly, that with the right amount of love, a lot of faith, some fresh air, sunshine and rain, that anything, yes, aboslutely anything is possible. 

Plant your seeds.  Give them love.  Believe. 

You will have a bounty of awesome to share.

Comments

[nakedjen]

It's a good question, about the watering. Something I moan about frequently, actually, here in the "mountain desert" of Utah. People over water here, as far as my Santa Cruz, California sensibilities are concerned.

I water that garden when I think it needs it. Har! Which honestly is about every three to four days. I'm sure there are folks here in Utah who will tell me that's not enough. But it is THRIVING. And let's not forget that there are the dry farmed tomatoes in Santa Cruz that are among my favorites. I don't think I could get away with that here as it truly is a hot, arid, very dry climate, but I am not dousing the garden daily. Not by any means.

[Naomi]

Okay, I know this was not your point, but Jenny saved you a BUTTLOAD. Heirloom are going for about $4/lb. Not that that stops me. Hee.

How much does it rain naturally in Salt Lake, or how often is it that you have to remember to water them (gardens)? I forget to daily water plants, which in this area is kind of a must, you cannot miss a day.

[hismuse]

Good for you, I can't plant for anything so I have my husband do it.