Peppers, Anyone?

Last spring the hubby decided that he wanted a vegetable garden. We pursued this idea with gusto, picking out tomato plants, banana peppers, jalapenos, all compact with promise in their little plastic square pots. I also made some selections of lavender, oregano, parsley, and lemon thyme, dreaming of making herb-infused soaps as well as unforgettable pasta sauces from the bounty of my section of the newly-dug plot of dirt.

Our illusions of daintily tending our garden were soon dispelled. However, in the spring of this year, all we could recall was the taste of homegrown tomatoes and the aroma of tilapia baked with lemon thyme. So we find ourselves, two idealistic amateur farmers, still grappling with the trials of the novice gardener in the second annual "what-were-we-thinking?" vegetable/herb garden.

On the plus side, we have enjoyed dishes embellished with fresh herbs and some delicious tomato soups. We have shared our harvests with neighbors and family, like a feature photo in Southern Living magazine. However, it ain't always such a pretty picture.

Weeds are evil. At least I can say that weeding one's garden in the Texas July heat is ample exercise and results in enough calorie loss through perspiration to ignore any needling of the conscience to pop in my Denise Austin Pilates DVD. Watering the garden is another chore. Perhaps I should hook up the soaker hoses I heisted from my dad earlier in the year (you know, back when I was still living the dream). But alas, they're buried in the withered brush of the gigantic tomato plants that have fallen all over themselves, I'm assuming, in sheer exhaustion. (Note: tomatoes are vine-producing plants. They ought to be trellised.)

Despite our neglect of the garden, those suckers of still bearing fruit! I had no idea one could be inundated with produce. As I walked by our kitchen table recently, I noticed the three bell peppers that had been sitting there, unused, for at least two weeks. Ew. They looked back at me pathetically--three little, wrinkled old ladies, complete with age spots.

In response to our clashes with the realities of gardening, we have resolved that in the spring of 2006, we'll purchase one or two tomato plants and a couple of pepper plants. However, I have the sneaking suspicion that we may find ourselves in line once again, our cart carrying a host of our next high-quantity producers. If you see us, just point us in the direction of the nearest farmer's market. Maybe we can get some money out of our irrepressible illusions of gardening grandeur, rather than just blood, sweat, and calluses.