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.