"My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow."
You might think the air would be full of the sound of Americans ripping up lawns and tearing out petunias to plant tomatoes and lettuce. This past year has seen a marked uptick in spending on vegetable seeds and plants, and the boys at the Burpee seed company couldn't be happier.
The ridiculous repetition of the seemingly inevitable word skyrocketing about gas and food prices would be funny if it weren't scary. So lots of home gardeners are congratulating themselves on saving money and cutting down on grocery store trips as they consume and share their fresh arugula and extra summer squash.
There's no form of food consumption more local than eating what grows in your yard. Not a lot of fossil fuel gets burned when you harvest a head of lettuce or pluck a cherry tomato a few yards from your door.
But, to be realistic, the people who can feed themselves and their families from their own vegetable plot and save money doing it are rare. These people are extraordinarily diligent and patient, and, what's more, they're possessed of gigantic freezers and a willingness to explore the mysteries of canning.
(By the way, home growers like those quoted in recent New York Times and Wall Street Journal articles were comparing the cost of seeds with the cost of a vegetable at the market. The cruel fact is that a packet of 100 carrot seeds does not produce 100 carrots. Nor were they figuring in the economic collateral damage—the cost of fencing, soil enrichment, necessary accessories like tomato cages, and the value of their own labor. For one man's funny, sensible, and enlightening exploration of the realities of home growing, see The $64 Tomato by William Alexander.)
Those of us who are not preternaturally diligent or adept at pickling and canning can still get plenty of pleasure and gratification from vegetable gardening. The most obvious pleasure is in harvesting fresh food that in most cases tastes much better than food from the market. (Not in every case. I am still trying to forget the truly inedible celery I grew last summer.) Eating peas or a sun-warmed strawberry while standing in the garden is bliss. My spouse likes to carry a slice of bread, a saltshaker, and a sharp knife out to the tomato patch.
But the less obvious and often overlooked pleasure in edible gardening is that the stuff is beautiful. You don't need to add flowers. A young peapod is translucent. Look closely, and you'll see that what seems to be a plain green plant can have an intriguing dark-red stem. Before its gorgeous, shiny-skinned, edible product appears, an eggplant has leaves with purple veins and a lavender flower with a tasteful yellow center.
The whole range of chili peppers is striking. The pepper of Capsicum "Black Pearl" emerges black and slowly turns red. All the red-leaf lettuces look pretty with a backdrop of ferny fennel. Even humble okra has a lovely flower; it's related to hibiscus.
There's an all-purple basil—"Dark Opal"—and Thai basil has red top leaves. Notice that the green of plain old mint looks greener when, maybe by a happy accident, it's next to a deep-red flower like the edible nasturtium "Mahogany."