Ammi Midstokke: A garden variety family reunion

Growing a garden is kind of like trying to organize a family reunion. Everyone has special requests and needs (the leafy greens), the brassicas are undiagnosed narcissists and perpetual victims (to aphids), and there’s always someone who does not respect boundaries (the squashes).

I’ve heard that tomatoes love carrots, but they don’t actually. It’s more like when your options are to sit next to an aunt who insists on putting eyedrops in during dinner while her goiter rolls to one side, or taking the seat next to a toddler who shrieks when food groups touch each other.

Swiss chard is that cluster of perimenopausal cousins that wants it warm but not too warm – my friend Mary says 75 degrees, but I forgot to ask if it she was referring to the chard or middle-aged women. The lettuces are those reluctant participants who are always trying to bolt too early when you’re not looking.

The nasturtiums, who are not vegetables but allowed in the garden by mysterious marital circumstances, either take up too much of the conversation or don’t speak at all, remaining mute and mousy beneath a cluster of herbs.

The basil – all varieties – are elitists who demand moist soil, but not too moist, dry soil in between, full sun if it’s not too hot, or dappled sunlight with the right amount of breeze. And never should they be exposed to the cold, for it ruins their complexion altogether and the shame and humiliation of it will stifle the mood of the entire herb bed.

The asparagus come year after year and always demand the nicest room with the biggest bed and the ensuite bathroom, even though they contribute only minimally to a well-rounded meal. The peppers, moody adolescents of the lot, just want to hang out poolside and bake undisturbed in the sun, though they do always bring the spice.

Every year, someone makes a bad choice and tries to invite a rogue relative (eggplant), some disowned legend or distant adoptee that prefers jungle climates (okra), or arrives with a cloud of unidentifiable pests (like that time a nephew brought lice and the only solution was to napalm the scalps of every single person until hair loss became a gender-indiscriminate trait).

Someone always wants to arrive early and leave late (corn) and there’s always a celery or two present – the guest who requires constant feeding and watering or warrants a dramatic wilting followed by a trip to the ER for a bag of fluids. There is inevitably an uncle with the qualities of a cucumber: Must remain a consistent level of inebriation/hydration to function, but the tipping point of too much is hard to identify and suddenly they’re mildewed and nonresponsive.

There are those things we grow but no one actually likes to eat, similar to a second cousin who we keep inviting despite their addiction to multilevel marketing products and a propensity to bring trifold brochures to each meal. These are the ones who always seem to thrive the most and are absolutely unbothered by any other calamity or conflict in the yard. Like radishes.

Then we have the nutritional needs of a diverging vegetable demographic. Like the kids who only eat frozen chicken nuggets of a specific brand. Apparently there are specific kinds of organic fertilizer a plant would prefer as well. To avoid having the matriarch lose her marbles, products like Miracle-Gro, the McDonald’s of gardening, are not allowed on site.

Someone needs more potassium while others are sure they have a nitrogen deficiency, and someone else wants a bit more phosphorus but not too much nitrogen and only during a particular time, after which point they want something entirely different, but temperatures might make them more fickle than usual in their dietary requirements. And there must always be a new teetotaler who abstains from everything, including fun, while others treat them as a fragile and delicate being, when in fact they are probably the highest functioning party present (beets).

And like all family reunions, when the season is over, we both sigh with relief and celebrate the small wins. Even while we’re thinking these things should take place at intervals more similar to high school reunions, we’re turning to our spouses and saying, “Maybe next year we should try growing artichokes!”

Ammi Midstokke can be contacted at ammim@spokesman.com