I remember those wonderful times of youth, when Mom sent me and Brother Greg to the back yard to plant some tomato seeds. How fun it was to water our tiny plants each morning and each evening race down to the flower patch to see which one of us possessed the the “Magic Touch,” that mysterious “Green Thumb” most of us only wish we had.
One summer it was grapevines we planted. They climbed right up a trellis on the side of the house. From our perch in the big bay windows we could all see the growth, although we never seemed to get any mature grapes.
These days I’ve discovered that planting a home garden is something akin to murdering small puppies or trying to set an arson fire in Dad’s lawn mower.
Yes, those innocent days are gone and most of our kids will never know how idyllic a childhood they could have had. Yes, here come the HOA Nazis to warn us that if the garden isn’t torn out by evening, our parents will be fined 50 dollars a day.
Knowing my parents, they would have fought for our rights as kids to have their own patch of garden. But we loved our parents and we would never have willingly brought on all this stress.
I’m sad to say those little green vines were all ripped out by evening, the dying roots were given a solemn burial in the trash can.