About a month ago, I received a letter I had been dreading for weeks. Sifting through a few days of mail, there it was, my summer, neatly sealed in a crisp white envelope. Part of me had been hoping my paperwork had been lost, the victim of an accidental shredding or a spilled cup of coffee, but no. There it was; I was committed. A few weeks before, on a whim, I had taken a long lunch from work and driven to the county extension office in Altoona and had rented a plot in the Jeffers Road Community Garden. As most people who know me will tell you, I can – with the rare exception – be almost phobic of commitment. So for me to sign up for something that requires as much time and attention as a garden is not only out of character for me, it’s almost enough to induce a panic attack.

After my initial terror subsided, I did what any self-respecting person in doubt would do: I called my mom and Googled gardening. To her credit, my mom reluctantly agreed to help. I’m sure she had visions of my long list of uncompleted childhood projects swirling through her head, but I knew she couldn’t resist getting back into a garden after having had a few years off. She grew up in a gardening family, something that remained until I was in my early teens. My grandparents had a large lot near Elk Lake that in summertime became half-consumed by a large and seemingly always lush garden. Some of my best summer days were spent trekking through their garden, eating chubby little carrots right out of the ground and picking berries for my grandma’s homemade jam. Plus, the excuse to get a little dirty digging up elusive potatoes was always an added bonus. So, with thoughts of relaxing in a garden and picking fresh vegetables raised by my own hand spurning me forward, I signed up    

Then I made the mistake of Googling gardening. Not one person said raising a garden would be easy. In fact, most gardeners seemed to take pride is saying just how hard raising a garden was going to be. I couldn’t help but think that the anecdotes of backbreaking labor, constant weeding, and epic Elmer Fudd-like battles with various critters had a slightly masochistic undertone. I had hoped for some good old-fashioned it’s-not-going-to-be-that-bad encouragement, but it wasn’t there. I have to say, gardeners seem to be an overly blunt and realistic lot. I was about to call it quits, but it seemed that every horror story was accompanied by the benefits of gardening: the fresh air, the personal relationship with your food, and a sense of self reliance.

    My confidence restored, I picked up my mom and drove us to the Potting Shed for seeds and supplies. After what must have been an hour spent reading seed packets, we decided on a crop and headed out to see our new plot. Our shiny new tools in hand, we stood on our new sandy rectangle of earth and looked at each other, not quite sure where to start. Our plot more resembled an unkempt lawn than a garden, but after our initial hesitation we dug in. It took a couple hours to clear just a third of the garden, but despite the hard work the time went surprisingly quick. There were no distractions – just me, my mom, and the work before us. After a weekend of sweat, hard work, and a little blood, we managed to get about a third of the garden cleared and planted. Dirty and tired, we drove home excitedly talking of our future bounty. I had never been so happy to have worked so hard.

So, if any of you are thinking about planting a garden this summer, I’m not going to lie, it’s hard, but it’s not too late to start. Even if it’s just a few containers on the lawn or a couple tomato plants on your apartment balcony, getting your hands dirty doing a little planting is rewarding even before the first little plants begin to peer from the soil. Most of all, I’m glad I’ll have some canned tomatoes and homemade pickles for the coming year. I just haven’t told my mom yet that I’m going to need help with that, too.