Or maybe my thumb just isn’t quite as black as I always believed.

As a descendant of many farmers (and both sets of grandparents had magnificent vegetable and flower gardens at their homes) I was always a little embarrassed that I couldn’t grow anything.  I’ve killed cactus.  I’ve even killed plants grown in the “fool-proof” Aerogarden, because I never remembered to water it.

My parents were never ashamed of having “black thumbs.” My mother even boasted, at times, of all the plants she’d killed.  My father has never had even the slightest interest in gardening.  Period.

But the rising costs of store-bought vegetables finally provoked me to make one last try.  A raised garden, this time.  And so far, so good.  The plants are a little short but they’re starting to produce their first harvests.  Like these cherry tomatoes.

A small start, but better than nothing.  Next up, I have to figure out how to keep the squash bugs from decimating my zucchini plants.

Perhaps the gardening gene didn’t skip two generations of my family after all…

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