Garden Envy

When I was unemployed, I decided to beautify the grounds of my domicile by planting flower beds and an array of vegetables. At one point when I was interviewing for a job that was located mere blocks from my house, I was most excited about the prospect of coming home on my lunch hour to water my crops. I didn't end up getting that job and the two months I spent regularly watering and fertilizing my crops seemed blissful. I was an urban farmer. Or farmeress?

Well, just as my crops were exploding in growth, my interest shockingly waned. My tomato plants were feet in height, the cucumber vine was starting to bear fruit, the pumpkin plants were amassing gigantic leaves and blossoms, my basil and cilantro were wildly outgrowing their pots and my canteloupe vine continued to wind through the grass. Overconfident that I was going to have a good harvest come July/August, that I had done all I could do, I stopped watering my plants. At this point in time, I used to visit my Mom and poke fun at her scraggly plants making her yearn for my excellent farming skills. Well the lack of water and an unfortunate lawn mower incident decimated my crops and leveled my hopes for being a champion urban farmer lady.

I spent the remaining weeks gazing longingly at the neighbors' planter boxes full of lush, fruit-bearing plants. I saw blueberries, eggplant, squash, tomatoes, peppers of all shapes and sizes and more. Even my Mom's garden had picked up. Her basil plants resembled bushes, her tomatoes were easily six feet tall and her pumpkin (that I had so graciously planted by seed for her) had a canteloupe-sized pumpkin growing.

My plants had given up. The two cucumbers never turned green, they were a whitish yellow. I picked one to try it and the insides tasted vinegary. Almost like a pickle. Later that particular week, I saw that a squirrel had picked the other cucumber, taken a bite and then left it in the alley to rot. The pumpkin plant never regrew. The cilantro died from lack of water. The tomatoes were repeatedly eaten by animals and the canteloupe never bore fruit. Or so I thought.
A baseball-sized green lump! A canteloupe! I did it! The next few weeks, I continued to monitor my baby, my prized canteloupe to see if it would grow. It never did. Nor did I ever water it. And, yesterday as I was mowing the lawn where the vines were growing, I mowed over my baby's lifeline. Idiot. At least the canteloupe was OK. I decided to take it to my parents for some show-and-tell and then sliced it open to see if it was edible. I tried some, it was kind of hard, yet sweet. Bummer. It looked pretty good, though!
So for now, I will go back to longing for the garden that never was. I'll probably watch my neighbors reap their harvest. I might hope that my canteloupe magically ripens in my fridge. But, I will not under any circumstance watch my Mom carve her pumpkin.