A Garden of Memory

As I get older I've come to realize that I've made an unconscious effort to recreate parts of my childhood. I'm not cavorting around the house re-enacting scenes from the Empire Strikes Back with my Star Wars toys or anything (possibly fun to do, but caught outside the presence of a niece or nephew is a sign to call in professional help), but I'm building specific past-times into my life that my parents once held domain. I change my own motor oil in my car, I bake bread using my mom's old bread pans, and I plant flowers and vegetables, for example.

Above is a picture taken in 2007 of my garden when I lived in Winnipeg. This little strip garden allowed me to grow tomatoes, carrots, peas (trained to climb sticks and fishing line to reduce sprawl), beans, radishes, garlic, and marigolds – to help keep out pests. I also had two 24x36 inch wood crates in which I planted basil, oregano, thyme, and chives.

And these were just the edible portions of my little green thumb.

I took a lot of pride in them as I had planted each from seed. I set up lights in my basement for the seedlings to take root, and by June, I'd have planted the seedlings into the ground. I was always fascinated to see my plants at their full growth stages by the end of summer. They tasted fantastic, and familiar. Not familiar in the way foods should taste. That's the least we can ask for, especially if we get them from a grocery store. But these foods evoked memories in me that I had forgotten.

As long as I can remember my family has grown a garden. The garden we had as kids was about 15x30 metres in size and it grew a lot of food. We also had a separate potato patch at my grandmother's double that size. It was a lot of work, but when the whole family contributed, well, you've heard the saying, "many hands make light work." We probably had the energy to do the work because we ate healthy. My mom still grows a garden, but on a smaller scale. As she has gotten older, I asked her once if she still has the energy to plant a garden. I recall she laughed and said something to the effect of, "I don't know what I would do with myself if I didn't have one."

I always get a weird, transportive feeling when I eat fresh vegetables from a garden. I especially love carrots straight out of the ground. I pull out a carrot, brush the dirt off, run water out of a hose to wash it, and take a bite. The flavour sends me back several decades every time, even more decades as I get older. I recall my dad used to laughingly call me "Bugs" when he saw me do this (what parent didn't). It's one memory I will always keep close to my heart.

The home in which I live does not have an appropriate area in the yard to grow vegetables. I also have dogs now and they likely would, by no fault of their own, be curious enough and haphazard enough to destroy it. This year, my wife's uncle down the street tilled an area of his lawn for my wife and I to use. I planted a few things, but most importantly, several rows of carrots. When the time came to eat a fresh carrot out of the ground, I pulled it from the earth, cleaned it off, took a bite, and was immediately sent back to my youth.

The taste of memory makes me smile every time.