my covid victory garden: old roots, new beds, and aching backs
When I look out at my backyard now, I see eleven fresh 10x4 raised beds lined up like soldiers, filled with 14 yards of rich soil. My hands are raw, my back aches, but my heart feels full. It reminds me of my parents’ old vegetable patch—back then, we dug straight into the earth, no fancy lumber or store-bought soil. We grew what we could, weathered by the seasons and the stubborn clay of our region.
Now, I watch my grandkids help me stack short retaining walls, their laughter echoing through the neighborhood. They question why we bother with all this effort when grocery stores are just down the street. I tell them about wartime victory gardens, about self-reliance and the pride of growing your own food. But they show me apps for hydroponics and talk about vertical gardens—no dirt under their nails, just screens and sensors.
Sometimes, I wonder if these new methods lose the healing touch of soil, the quiet therapy of weeding after a hard day. Yet, our community’s HOA frowns on untidy plots and wild growth, pushing us toward neatness over nature. Some neighbors complain about the look of my beds, worried about property values, while others stop to share stories of their own childhood gardens.
As summer heat bears down, I see the difference: my tomatoes thrive in raised beds, but the old patch struggles. Is this progress, or just nostalgia fighting change? I’d love to hear how others balance tradition and innovation, and whether your gardens bring your family together—or spark debates across generations.
#victorygarden #familytradition #raisedbeds #Gardening
