Brooklyn Backyard or Weeds- part 2

There were seeds to plant and one needed a place to do this. For some, living in Brooklyn would make it a challenge or an impossibility, as finding a secure place to explore the workings of a seed required soil. To the good fortune of a young Brooklyn "botanist" , he resided in a house with an attached backyard complete with soil. This 30' X 30' piece of real estate was all one could dream of. By city standards he was considered to live on a farm.
This young farmer now needed to spring into action. All his visualizing had to become reality. Possessing growing knowledge equal to Howdy Doody, research became Paramount. Having a box of unsold resource material, the seed packets became gospel.
They say ignorance is bliss. Farmer Boy was in a state of euphoria. Many years later he would learn such awareness as ,soil preparation, planting depth, , patience, what an emerging sprout looks like, more patience, weeding, and the need to actually stay in touch as a plant grows.
Seeds were in the ground and Farmer Boy was turning on the stove, ready to cook. He had gotten a late start because he had no idea when the last frost came and he didn't want to take any foolish chances. He was amazed at how fast ,what appeared to be lifeless soil can transform into a mass of green. He was quite confident some of that green were his seeds marching to the dinner table.
School was over late in June and City Boy was ready for the annual trek to the cottage by the lake. His family always left a week before school let out and stayed away until days before the new school year in September. A lesson soon was learned that planting a crop and leaving it to it's own resources, for two and a half months, is not recommended.
This ritual would continue for several years and City Boy never tired of planting, and plants never tired of growing into a tangled mass of something green. This phenomenon would have a great effect in City Boy's thinking many years in the future. But upon the yearly return from the lake the visions of bountiful harvests resulted in having a stove that cooked no dreams.

A Weed Grows in Brooklyn - Part 1

The following spring, after 'The Perfect Tomato", found a young cement dweller ready to see what a seed was all about. He would unlock the mystery hidden by a thin seed coat, a veneer, hiding some mystical ritual. First, however seeds must be procured. To his great fortune he had among his beloved reading collection the latest edition of "Boy's Life". On page 15, providence was beckoning. There, for all to see, was an opportunity a" budding" gardener could not let lay fallow. It was the chance to sell packets of seeds door to door. Just send in ten dollars and you will receive enough packets of seeds to sell at a remarkable profit while benefiting mankind in general, as well as some local retailers where you will be spending this windfall. Mine would go to the sporting goods store where I would stock up on Spauldings and Wiffel Balls. After all it was spring.
The seeds, which included a wide variety of selections ranging from aster to zucchini, were a sight to behold! All that was left to do so this master plan of making profit and having seed to plant was a few hours invested in ringing doorbells [ "Do not speak to strangers "was not in vogue yet]. It was soon after this that a young "sprout" of a salesman realized that person to person sales would not be a future calling. He did not find the eager buyers who shared his love of seeds nor did he have any relatives with green thumbs or ones willing to part with green backs.
Despair soon took hold as profit became red ink. A return to baby sitting loomed in his future as the coffers were bare. But all was not lost as this young Brooklynite now had a cache of seeds that could be planted in his Bay Ridge backyard before he left to spend the summer by the lake. He would get to unlock the workings of those impenetrable seed coats. It was spring, and- it was time to take off your coat and face the approaching summer.

A Kid From Brooklyn - 1948

Growing up in an asphalt jungle does not portend a future fascination with all that grows. The jaw dropping look each time a seed ,buried for dead, raises itself above the surface in defiance of logical thinking and how a transplant , plucked from contentment, roots and thrives. Not only do they live ,but there, in front of your skepticism, are fruits, vegetables , flowers, and leaves of countless descriptions.
For this to take place, a small boy was blessed with summers by a lake in a wonderland of many things green and an old retired man who shared expertise gained over several generations. A man who carried a knife and a salt shaker to visit an August garden where a ripe tomato would be eaten ,"As the good Lord intended". I have never since tasted a tomato of such perfection. That first bite whispered ,in a shout, " You have found something to keep your interest for the rest of your days!" I knew then that I would be "Growing The Good Life".