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How does your garden grow? Not well at all

Submitted by on Saturday, 21 March 2009 No Comment

img_1455Note to self: Set parental controls to block access to all articles mentioning “Obama” and “garden.”

Nah. Too vague. That also would filter anything happening in the Rose Garden. OK, then let’s try “Michelle Obama” and “organic garden.”

That should eliminate any possibility of a reference to planting produce at the White House from popping up on the screen as the guys walk by. I’ve managed to keep the news away from them for a full day, and I’d like to keep it that way.

Don’t get me wrong. I agree with the message Michelle Obama delivered Friday as she dug into the White House lawn. Locally grown, organically produced produce is the way to go, and anyone can do it in the back yard.

I just resent the political pressusre she’s applying. Can’t she just tell kids to go to the library? That’s a lot less effort.

Unlike the first lady, I’m fine with hitting the farmers market and letting someone else do the work. I also happen to stink at gardening.

Ever since Big Guy started studying plants at school, though, the pressure’s mounted. He eagerly checks his little bean seed’s progress daily, never mind that he’d never actually eat it were it to by some miracle survive.

It’s a pattern with him. He also wanted to visit the broccoli he planted in the fall, though once the crop came in he immediately turned the harvest over to his brother.

Despite Big Guy’s intense disinterest in eating anything that grows in the ground – he refuses to admit that French fries come from potatoes that grow in the ground – he’s been lobbying hard for a garden. His fascination with anything the Obamas say or do would kick that up several notches.

“Maybe we could plant a few flowers,” I offered earlier this week.

“But we can’t eat flowers.”

“Some you can eat. Besides,  you  won’t eat vegetables.”

“I eat salsa. We can plant salsa.”

Visions of the pizza-planting scene from “Wall-E” popped into my head. And technically speaking, he doesn’t eat salsa.  He delicately dips his chip into the slightest bit of juice and removes it quickly, before any vegetable can contaminate it.

“We’ll think about it.”

“Good! Let’s plant strawberries, too. I saved a seed at lunch.”

OK, son, now you’re just getting carried away.

Problem is, he’s starting to carry me with him. I actually Googled tonight to find out how to grow strawberries in hanging baskets and was ready to head for Home Depot and wire baskets, dirt and moss. I almost believed I could do it.

Then the mental war set in.

It’d be a great spring break project versus the sunflowers that quickly died last year after the guys “forgot” to water them.  Reinforcing what Big Guy’s been learning in school versus digging and weeding. Back-yard fresh tomatoes versus the fact that I hate tomatoes.

I suspect I probably will wind up doing this, though I’d like to have a little more time to talk myself out of it.

Which is why “Michelle Obama” and “organic garden” filter needs to stay in place at least over the weekend.

Copyright 2009 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.

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