Like many parents, it’s important to me that my kid understands where her food comes from. There’s not a day that goes by during the growing season when Josephine doesn’t pick and eat something from our backyard. One of my proudest moments as a new father happened when Josie was one year-old and still signing for most of her language. She went to the door that leads to the garden and gave me the sign for “food.” She was hungry, so I let her out to feast upon the strawberries. Success.
A year has passed and the strawberries and and now the cherries are waning. I’ve turned the snap peas under, but soon the raspberries will peak, and then it it will be carrots, gooseberries, currants, blackberries, tomatoes, pears, apples, and grapes. She’s two and a half-years old and may not be able to count past four, but she can identify the difference between a garlic and an onion, spinach and lettuce, or kale and swiss chard. I’ve also tricked her into thinking that she’s playing with water by watering the raised beds
Like a fisherman with his catch, it is hard not to fall into the temptation to glorify your blue-ribbon winners with photos. Being a fisherman, as well as a grower of vegetables, I know a thing or two about how to pose with a two-pound trout: namely at arm’s length toward my buddy’s camera to make it look like an 18-pound steelhead. So I’ll admit it: posing my diminutive daughter beside these fruits and veggies does flatter my gardening prowess with an optical illusion of gigantism. But seriously folks: those bunny ears of hers are spinach, not swiss chard. And that turnip-induced hernia of hers? I’ve never heard such screaming.