When I lived in the city, I dreamt of my children having access to a garden. Not that I knew anything about gardening. I remember getting a few pots of herbs that I planned to put on my windowsill. I researched how to pot them, and it was recommended that I line the bottom of the pot with small rocks commonly found in a yard and to fill the remaining space with potting soil. This presented a real challenge: I didn't know where I could find rocks in New York City (after all, you aren't exactly allowed to dig things up in a public park), and none of the local bodegas sold potting soil. Fast forward five years, and I have more rocks than I know what to do with, despite lining dozens of pots with them. I swear, Cranford has a stone quarry lying about four inches beneath the soil.
I've learned a lot about gardening over these past 3 years, and I even have a garden of my own now. The girls love to help water and pick the fruit and vegetables, but I thought it would be really fun for them to have their own little garden to tend to near their playhouse. So, the other day we planted a few lettuces, cabbage, and brussels sprouts. The deer will likely eat them, and maybe Erin's groundhog will leave his cosy home beneath her shed and make an unwelcome visit. In that case I plan to plant some marigolds and, if all else fails, unleash Thomas on them. He was practicing his karate skills on our swing using a shovel while we were planting the garden, and I don't think any animal stands a chance in face of Thomas: The Karate Farmer.