I’m wearing bell bottoms and riding in the rear-facing seat of my parents’ paneled station wagon. I’m growing up in suburbia in the 1970’s and in the middle of our development my mom has a huge garden running the perimeter of the house from the side door to the back patio, with an additional garden plot located on land beyond the creek bed.
The scrawny seedlings she started would rapidly become strong stalks dangling vegetables colored in hues mimicking a sixty-four pack of Crayola crayons. The bounty from her garden would feed me and my five siblings throughout the summer months and into fall. Chartreuse green lettuce, string
beans, carrots, cucumbers, peas, inky-black eggplant, squash, potatoes and peppers would be on our plates in a variety of dishes. Best of all was taking a momentary break from running through the sprinkler or playing tag and being able to stuff a juicy cherry tomato into my mouth fresh off the vine.