Discovered: my inner gardener

A brown thumb turns green.

By Sarah Ludwig Rausch

from the April 14, 2008 edition

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I have always thought that I was born with a brown thumb and an innate inability to nurture anything green. Despite my good intentions, the few times I've owned a plant, I've managed to ensure its death either by drowning or dehydration.

The only plant I've owned that actually flourished was an African violet with velvety purple blossoms that stood on the small windowsill in my bedroom. I was 9 years old, and I spent hours reading to it after hearing that this could help it grow. Whenever a flower would bloom, I'd be as excited as a kid going to the county fair.

But every summer when I was a child, my parents would make my sister and me weed my grandparents' ridiculously large (we thought) flower garden. It was exhaustingly hard work.

As we took frequent breaks to collapse on the grass, sweaty and sapped, I vowed never to subject myself to such torture when I had a choice. Weeding was by far the absolute worst chore on earth.

Despite my wariness, I planted my first real garden last spring. I don't believe there's anything nicer in the realm of food than preparing dinner and going out to your garden to pick juicy sweet corn, crisp cucumbers, or savory green beans to go with the meal, as my mother-in-law did every year. Eating garden-ripened fruits and vegetables at her house year after year finally inspired me to try to grow my own.

From the beginning, there was work to do in the garden every day, work I expected to detest but decided I would put up with for the sake of having fresh veggies. However, I was surprised to discover that not only did I not mind taking care of my garden, I became a passionate, albeit inexperienced, gardener. Weeding, which I had once considered the ultimate torturous chore, became one of my favorite pastimes.

My mother – who was also under the impression that I'd never be able to keep a plant for longer than a week, let alone grow and maintain a garden – was stunned when she saw my vivid sunflowers, long vines of fat cucumbers, and plump pumpkins prepared for fall picking.

She exclaimed over the snappy flavor of my green beans, the way my peas burst into sharp sweetness, the candy-flavored butternut squash – and she gladly carted home bags filled with the fruits of my efforts.

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