There is something about my garden that I just can’t get enough of.

Jeremy and I are drawn to each little plant, each new bud like you wouldn’t believe. Every day we’re examining the shrubs and flowers, checking the leaves for signs of health, good or bad. It’s our creative project this summer… And we love it.

We haven’t always been gardeners. My dad has maintained gardens in every place we’ve lived growing up and I never took more than a passing interest in his hobby. Even as apartment dwellers, we’d faithfully water the houseplants but never successfully gardened outdoors. (There were two failed attempts at brightening our rentals with impatiens. Quite sad.) The funny thing is, there’s no such things as a “green thumb.” People often say, I can’t garden — everything I touch dies! But truthfully, it doesn’t take much talent… A little sun, a little water, perhaps a little Miracle-Gro and there’s your garden.

Today in the Tredway Garden things are looking good. The cucumbers seem to be taking a one-day hiatus from production (which is great because no one I know can eat cucs that fast). The little grape tomato bush is full of teeny green balls and the roma is just beginning to fill out it’s oblong fruits. The radishes, though suffering a bit in the heat of the summer, are blooming still and the pole beans are just starting to put out teeny whitish green buds. All the veggies are watched over by a towering stalk, soon to have the head of a sunflower.
   
A GARDEN is a lovesome thing, God wot!  
  Rose plot,  
  Fringed pool,  
Fern’d grot—  
  The veriest school          
  Of peace; and yet the fool  
Contends that God is not—  
Not God! in gardens! when the eve is cool?  
  Nay, but I have a sign;  
  ‘Tis very sure God walks in mine.

Thomas Edward Brown. 1830–1897