TreeHouseView

I grew up with a very large backyard garden—my dad’s pride and joy and my mom’s photo backdrop, complete with a marigold and zinnia border. The thing took up a good third of our yard, and they grew everything from rhubarb to corn to the tomatoes that became the perfect weapons for the Great Rotten Tomato Wars with the Neighbor Boy. (My mom is probably still mad about that, and she’s been gone for 32 years.)

As a kid, I couldn’t have cared less. I had zero interest in gardening—books, Barbies, horses, dolphins, and boys (probably in that order) held all my attention. The garden was just… there.

Fast-forward to adulthood: my husband and I planted our first Big People Garden this year in raised beds. We’ve been dabbling with tomatoes in pots for a few summers, but this year we went all in. And holy shit—every single day is a new learning experience. I wish we’d had the forethought to set up a timelapse camera, because watching this garden grow has been STUNNING.

I am officially in my bird-watching, garden-growing, crow-calling crone years. Bring. It. On.

Case in point: I just learned about hand pollinating pumpkins. Wait—WHAT?! I get to breed pumpkins now?? We planted three varieties, and while we were a little behind the curve this year (maybe a lot) so far it’s all flowers, no baby pumpkins. After some late-night googling, I discovered they might need a little… assistance in the pollination department.

So, current state of affiairs: me, excited to cut out a boy stamen and rub it lovingly on a girl pistil. Something I never imagined would get me all aflutter—and yet, here we are. Meanwhile, my husband is still out there serenading his tomatoes, whispering sweet nothings to every leaf and stem, and I’ve gleefully taken on the role of Insemination Specialist.

The garden has officially rewired us. It’s not just growing plants anymore—it’s growing us right along with it.