Our house sat on a quarter-acre land in Orangeburg, New York, on Maple Avenue, aptly named for the 80-foot maple tree that majestically loomed over the property. From the back of our two-story house, the stairs from the balcony led down to the ground level and straight to my mother’s garden. Bricks, carefully placed by my dad, a now retired civil engineer, separated the rows of plantings in a systemic way and provided a nice wide trail for tending and watering.
I often witnessed Mom, whose first name is Eden, walk through the upstairs sliding glass door and into the kitchen, a wide grin planted on her face and evidence of soil under her fingernails. Sweaty under a straw hat, she would carry in a colander filled with – depending on the season – bright red tomatoes, sturdy squash, strands of string beans, shiny bell peppers, and sweet corn. Later at dinner we would revisit these earthly delights in the form of a salad or a casserole or some sort of stew.
Unfortunately, these dishes with ingredients born from seedlings delighted Mom and Dad, but they didn’t thrill me one bit. Nor my siblings.
I was then in my teens and at the time, my daily diet consisted of frozen pizza, canned meats (I’m having queasy memories of Spam and Vienna sausages), sugary cereal, salty crackers, and other processed choices. “Edibles” ripped right off store shelves and the freezer section. Oh, there might have been an occasional apple or bowl of berries but not enough to qualify as “healthy eating.” And, everything was washed down with a nice chilled can of soda, Coke or 7-Up.
Back then I loathe most things that emerged from mom’s garden. My rebellion even carried to the produce aisle of the grocery store; a department so foreign to me.
While I was not yet a fan of eating vegetables, I was always in complete awe when they sprouted from the ground, so full of life and freshness. And, I wasn’t the only one. Neighbors who walked by often gave credit to Mom.
“Eden, what a beautiful garden!”
As I entered adulthood, the flavors of nature eventually won me over. I discovered the delicious bite of a crisp salad of leafy arugula or Romaine lettuce tossed with just a hint of oil and citrus. As I learned to cook, I started embracing the combination of sauteed broccoli and green beans hitting a hot pan, the yummy flavor of all types of tomatoes, heirloom, roma, grape… that transformed into a sauce. And, how about all those herbs I’ve ignored before? Parsley, thyme, cilantro… all of which I would later add to my repertoire of kale, Brussels sprouts, garlic, mushrooms, and endless findings at the farmer’s markets. Almost weekly, you’ll now find me serving up my version cauliflower “rice” or roasted root vegetables.
Oh Mom, how could I have turned away the veggies of your labor?
So nowadays, when I am able to keep a basil plant alive for a few weeks, I’m elated. I’ve began my campaign to start a garden in our backyard, which unfortunately faces East and doesn’t receive a lot of sun. But with Mom’s garden instilled in my heart and soul, I can only hope to nurture a tiny version of a garden to make it my own.