Each of the nine summers we've lived here we've had a vegetable garden. It started out, as many things do, on a very small scale. A few tomato plants and spices in a scrubby and way-too-shady part of the backyard. The yield that year: nothing.
We tried a sunnier spot the second summer - still in a bare and weedy area - and fared no better. Year three or four, we finally bit the bullet and ripped up a nice patch of grass in a wide-open sunny and self-watering spot, set up some deer netting and made a go of it.
No surprise, we finally got stuff.
Fast forward another four years or so and we have this year's garden:
And we have our very first asparagus. I've never seen asparagus in the wild, but I don't think I expected it to just be standing there, a single stalk like you'd find in the store. There are about seven of these total. Not a great haul, but considering we've been working on these plants for three years, we're darn pleased we finally have something.
We (true confession: husband does 95% of the actual work, I keep the kids busy so his work doesn't wind up squashed) also planted peas, beans, carrots, onions, beets, lettuce, peppers, corn, four kinds of squash, tomatoes, and cucumber. And lots of strawberry plants that multiply year to year. Last year was a washout - literally - for a lot of the plants. So. Much. Rain. But things are looking good so far this year.
You're probably waiting for the part where I draw the gardening-writing analogy - investing time to get results, building upon past failures, yadda, yadda. But it's been done before, in various ways, and better than I could*. This is really just a post about the garden.
Sometimes things just are what they are.
*That last link isn't really about gardening, but raising chickens is close enough, no? Besides, it's really good.