Cultivate

Looking back, a lot of my childhood encompassed our acre large garden and live stock. Dad made two hundred dollars a month for a family of ten, thus our garden was our source of survival. Back then, the garden and all that set root was my core enemy. It intervened in my playtime especially in the summer when school was out, all I ever heard was, “it’s time to go to the garden.” When school was in session all I heard was, "remember come home straight from school you have to go to the garden." I blistered in the sun toiling with these darn fruits and vegetables while my friends chased each other down the block and through the fields. Saturdays the main artery to my loathing, my morning cartoon session was cut short. As a kid, all I lived for was running rampant with the neighborhood kids till nightfall. I cursed our garden. I spit on our farm life. I swore to never speak of such things out loud.

Twenty years later, the slow food movement makes an up rise from Europe to America. No thanks to the pioneer frontiersman Alice Waters for making it all happen. I skipped the Ferry Building Farmer's Market on Saturday, and hit the Alameda Farmer's Market instead. After strolling through the Alameda Farmer's Market I left with a few pots of chili peppers, English and french thyme, basil, tarragon, rosemary, thyme, cilantro, parsley, cherry box tomatoes and arugula all under the cheap fare of $20. Shane shook his head as he has grown accustom to my compulsive projects that has a life span of a week. I, Madam Black Thumb, decided to face my farce of gardening and prove to myself that I could see a project to the end.

I was excited. I could sense victory on my horizon. Besides, herbs in my meals have become a staple in my cooking in the past four years. Conveniently, plucking it from the backyard would be sensational. Mom and Dad would choke on a chicken bone, if they witnessed my soil attempt. Me, the serial cactus strangler, is moving out of my circle. I plugged in my ipod speaker system and let Thelonious Sphere Monk tap on those keys in all that is jazz. I dusted off my gardening kit from our Clayton Street home, and I made way into the backyard. “This is the first time you’ve spent time back here, since we moved in.” my husband heckled, “you sure you know what your doing? Remember you have to plant the basil next to the tomatoes for it to grow well.” Suddenly, my husband King Horticulture repeated his sister’s advice to a healthy basil life in San Francisco. I removed the herbs from their temporary pots and replanted them in the new soil. I felt a sense of exuberance with the notion that the life of these plants relied on my sensitive care.

The very next morning I lightly sprayed some water to quench the soil. I talked to the plants as I would a friend. I recall my fifth grade teacher, Ms. Ito, mentioning an article on classical music and plants and how they thrived successfully. Pregnant moms play classical music for their babies in their bellies all the time so why would this be any more queer. Two weeks later, my garden is abounding with life. I made an arugula salad topped with fresh cherry box tomatoes and rosemary chicken topped with a garlic tarragon and parsley butter.

I am glad that the slow food movement is slowly entering the general public. As living off the land goes way back in history and it is nothing new. The world today is moving too fast and too large with no respect for patience. As I enjoy a beautiful fresh meal, I have come to understand the satisfaction and accomplishment of my parents’ meals and the importance of finishing everything off our plates. My parents worked hard to feed their family. I hope that my children will appreciate the importance and find the beauty in life.

This is Shellie pleading, "plant love not war" back to you Bob at the studio!