I love my veggies. I love them raw, steamed, roasted, grilled, sautéed and pureed. I just don’t grow them. In fact, other than the rare bonus packet of tomato seeds that comes with my annual seed order, I avoid growing vegetables. There, I’ve said it.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the idea of growing and harvesting my own food, and the whole locavore movement (although I do have issues with the word. I think it sounds like “crazy eater.”) — it’s just that I’m more in love with the idea than the actual task. And the sad part is, I know I’m missing out on something. On many things.
Part of my aversion comes from the multitude of garden pests. I know what they can do just in my flower garden – and squirrels have been known to push me over the edge. I just don’t think I could handle a) the vigilantism of protecting my food from varmints and b) the disappointment of seeing my dinner on someone else’s plate.
I also feel that with vegetables, it’s either feast or famine – and both are ill-timed. When I’ve tried to grow tomatoes in the past, there were very few for summer salads. Instead, they all arrived at once at the end of the season – and let’s not forget the brown bags full of green tomatoes and an apple to help them ripen. The same goes for strawberry. Yes, strawberry – because that’s about all I was able to enjoy as a freshly picked dessert and I know I’m not alone. Here is some proof from Tidy Gardens by Jane.
