More from Mr. Leopold

It is also evident that our plant biases reflect not only vocations but avocations with a delicate allocation of priority between industry and indolence. ... Our biases are indeed a sensitive index to our affections, our tastes, our loyalties, our generosities, and our manner of wasting weekends.

Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac

It has become quite clear to me that, although I have fond memories of popping impatiens pods, admiring brightly colored day lilies, and sketching the roses that bloomed outside the window of my boyhood bedroom, my plant biases indicate tastes more than anything else. My family's long-standing food-centricity is likely the reason that vegetables have fully captured my attention. If you consider only the easy availability of grocery store produce then I suppose my weekends and Summer's are to some extent wasted on the production of vegetables; however, many factors counsel otherwise.

In addition to the inherent value in connecting with plants and nurturing green life, there is further value in exerting personal sovereignty over even a small sector of one's food supply, in avoiding BPA-lined tomato cans or tomatoes picked by slaves or tomatoes coated in harmful chemical sprays, in developing responsibility, and in trading in one's white collar for a pair of dirty hands. And there is joy in green-tinged light and leaf-shaped shadows playing on the apartment floor.

However, there is also sadness when one's cat misbehaves (just as one had previously worried) and eats one's indoor arugula and spinach. These refugees are recuperating behind closed doors (the cage is a relic of a botched effort to repel the cat):

Their outdoor counterparts are thriving:

The indoor tomatoes have proven unappetizing to the cat and have accordingly grown and begun to bloom:

When more blossoms appear, we will attempt to pollinate by cotton swab.

Outside, the tomatoes are flourishing even more:

We are trying not to count our tomatoes before they hatch, but we are optimistic enough to have begun thinking about how to preserve some of our putative summer harvest.

Meanwhile, the vegetables are looking well, although the jalapeño might be a bit crowded:

Summer has been tending to basil and mint, as well as raising a variety of vegetables from seed. The mint in particular has already paid dividends, finding its way into glasses of ice water and proving delicious. Here it is:

Best of all, we camped out in the yard on beach chairs yesterday afternoon after walking to a coffee shop and visiting a park, and altogether thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful afternoon. One can easily index our affections and our tastes from the plants we're growing, but one can hardly count the weekend wasted.

Reflection Courtesy of Aldo Leopold

There are two spiritual dangers in not owning a farm. One is the danger of supposing that breakfast comes from the grocery, and the other that heat comes from the furnace.

To avoid the first danger, one should plant a garden, preferably where there is no grocer to confuse the issue.

Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac

I'm not certain that our initial attempt at a garden will much assuage the spiritual danger of supposing that breakfast comes from the grocery. Breakfast, as things currently stand, comes from a number of places: organic yogurt which (according to Wikipedia) is "sourced from New England and Midwest dairy farmers through the CROPP cooperative," organic oats from Maine, organic bananas from Central America, and other fruits of various provenance. All of which is an indirect way of saying that it comes from the grocery. Hopefully our garden, once it gets going, will do better for our suppositions regarding lunch and dinner. Regardless, it is already and unquestionably a spiritual salve.

Over the course of these first few days, a simple peek out the window at our outdoor group of vegetables has been a reliable source of feelings whose descriptions would either be saccharine or clichéd if I were to attempt them. The vegetables' appearance of contentment is undoubtedly a reflection of their viewer and not themselves. The indoor group has produced a surprising sense of responsibility, in that I worry about the recent cloud cover allowing only insufficient sunlight through our south-facing windows, and even more about our willful cat chomping on the indoor leafy greens. He's taken a few bites, but seems to have backed off.

The sense of stewardship that comes with even such a minor and wholly insufficient garden is startling. I was expecting to feel the reserve that tends to accompany one who is trying to maintain a feeling of individuality even while jumping on a bandwagon. This expectation was only furthered by the small size and great uncertainty of the garden itself, which can do little more than supplement our diet if it begins producing. So my strong reaction seems indicative that Mr. Leopold was correct--there is a certain irreplaceable quality, whether spiritual or psychological, that cannot be realized except through cultivation. And because I am certain not to own a farm any time soon (indeed, I quite enjoy living in an urban setting where I can both walk to work and see plenty of green outside my windows), I will have to rely on these plants to provide that quality.

An Experiment

Yesterday Summer and I purchased several plants at Southside Community Land Trust's annual plant sale. This was not our first time making such a purchase, though we've never had much luck before. This year, however, will be different. This time, we have a plan.

These plants are vegetables, specifically collard greens, spinach, arugula, eggplant, cucumber, jalapeño, and three varieties of tomatoes. Here they are:

The nature of the experiment is as follows. All of the plants will reside in containers, specifically sub-irrigated planters. To be even more specific, these ones:

Some plants will remain indoors, namely sungold cherry tomatoes, roma tomatoes, collards, spinach, and arugula. Some will remain outdoors, namely sungold cherry tomatoes, pear tomatoes, collards, spinach, arugula, eggplant, cucumber, and jalapeño. All have been planted in the same organic potting mix, hopefully to be supplemented by home-made compost but otherwise to be supplemented by a fish-based plant food.

We have three goals: first, to gain some idea what we're doing eventually; second, to compare the indoor versus outdoor growing condition; and third, to produce some tasty food. I'm particularly keen on item three.

Why are we doing this? I for one have always been a sucker for trends. Especially when those trends involve supporting an organization worth supporting, increasing urban plant life, improving my understanding of where food comes from, and giving myself access to the freshest ingredients possible. Hopefully this experiment will spawn more thoughts on these and other as-yet-unforeseen topics. And delicious meals.

So, the plants have been planted and taken their appointed places. Here they are. Updates to follow.

The outdoor group:

The indoor group: