What color is my thumb?

When I used to live in the suburbs, I had my own yard. Is that redundant? Does every house in the suburbs have a yard? Well my house had a yard, and it was covered with grass, and I dutifully mowed the lawn every one to five weeks. I had some flowers, but I never bothered to plant anything more adventurous. The ground was hard and dry under the grass, and the neighbors’ trees selfishly stole a lot of the sunlight. I probably could have broken a sweat and got some tomatoes into the ground, but it never quite happened.

I have always wanted to have my own garden in some misty far-off fantasy kind of way. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a garden?” In fact, I once had a cactus plant in my dorm room at prep school, and it died from lack of water. If you can kill a cactus with lack of water, you are probably not cut out for a life of farming and living off the land.

I recently read the book In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan (as a quick side note, I am a big fan of that book and will write a post about it at some point, so think of this as a coming attraction of sorts). The book touches on my issues, but near the end Pollan suggests that everyone should try to have their own garden. Whether it is a full-on garden in your backyard, or a plot in the city, or just some plants on the back porch of your apartment, a garden connects you with the earth. It almost literally grounds you.

Is this important? I think so. It fosters respect for the planet, for the fragility of all the life on the planet, and for the source of our food.

That is why I know have several tomato plants, pepper plants, and basil plants growing on the fire escape of my apartment. So far the experiment hasn’t been a smashing success. The plants are all still alive, but I’m not sure if they are the healthiest crop on the East Coast. I was hoping that the CO2 from the nearby highway might give them extra nutrients. Perhaps it doesn’t work that way, exactly.

So maybe I don’t exactly have a green thumb—not yet anyway. Right now I am just going for survival with the plants out back. But I do know that I smile every time that I look out at them on the fire escape. It’s a much nicer sight than a rusty ladder, and I always find myself rooting for them to grow and to flourish.

So come on, baby plants, don’t be like my old dorm room cactus. I promise to water you!