Gardening became a new hobby

The first batch of green beans are bubbling on the stove. I picked the last handful this morning.

Planting, picking and preparing the slender beans is a labor of love. I hate them. They stink, the texture is nasty and they taste awful. The only reason I do all this is because my husband likes them.

He feels the same about many of the foods that I like. As far as he is concerned mushrooms and shrimp belong in the trash.

Sometimes having different tastes is good. This year the raspberries were sweet and juicy. In years past, he has told me that they taste sour. I think they taste sweet. As a result, I am free to eat the raspberries straight off the vine without having to share.

Several years ago I was blessed with a container of raspberries from a reader. I intended to write a thank you note but try as I might, I couldn’t find his address. It hasn’t turned up yet. Perhaps someday it will and I can write a belated thank you.

Part of the pleasure of gardening is sharing with other people. I remember one year was cucumber year. They multiplied faster than I had ever seen. One afternoon a trucker saw me out in the garden and asked for a bucket of water. I think he was overheating. I gave him the water then made him take a few cucumbers home with him. He said I was doing it backwards and that he was the one who should give me something in exchange for the water. I told that he was doing me a favor by taking them.

My cucumbers are currently blooming. I have yet to see any fruit, or are they vegetables? I like them soaked in vinegar and cold water with a little bit of onion added.  They are also good in salads. Once when we were visiting our daughter, her hubby added sliced cucumbers to a stir fry. It was good. I had never considered cooking them.

I always find it odd that I enjoy gardening. When I was growing up the garden produced enough vegetables to last the year. I hated it. It was hot, hard work. We canned or froze the produce. I had the job of carrying the jars to the cellar — not the basement, the cellar.

I was convinced that a troll or monster lived under the stairs. He was going to grab me through the open back of the steps. The fact that it never did was irrelevant. Every time I was sent down to the cellar the troll was waiting for me.

I think it was the same troll that was in the fairy tale about the “Three Billy Goats Gruff.”

I am more than thankful that my garden doesn't have a resident troll. Our house also doesn’t have a cellar. I do not can anything and have no desire to start. I remember that instead of a sugary snack, we would pick a handful of green onions and leave them in an icy glass of water as a snack.

We grew a garden for food. I garden for fun. The childhood garden was huge by today’s standards. My garden today is small enough to provide two people fresh vegetables for a season. But is it enough to satisfy my need for fresh food without being overwhelming?