Last week, I knocked on one of my neighbors’ windows. They opened it, and I asked, “Want some salad tonight? I’ve got more lettuce than my belly can handle.”
“Uh, yeah!” came the reply.
So I grabbed my kitchen shears and two one-gallon bags and headed into my garden fortress—a fenced-in oasis that keeps out most of the critters. I harvested four of the five lettuce varieties that were ready. (No worries. Leaf lettuce bounces back with gusto after each cutting, at least until the heat of late June tells it the season is over.)
I filled one bag and handed it to that neighbor. Then I walked next door with the second bag.
“I think you look like you could use some lettuce,” I said. Maybe I asked first. Maybe I didn’t. Either way, I knew the answer.
Later that evening, my second neighbor posted a beautiful photo of the lettuce on a “30 Days of Salad” website. Seeing something I had grown become someone else’s dinner made me smile.
But I don’t just share lettuce. And I don’t share simply because I have too much.
I share because I love giving things away. I share because I want more people to experience the incredible flavors of heirloom vegetables. I share because I want people to discover that “heirloom” isn’t just a label slapped onto a funny-looking tomato. And yes, I share because watching something I nurtured bring joy to someone else fills me with a quiet sense of pride.
Lettuce is just the beginning.
This spring, I intentionally started far more seedlings than I needed. From the very beginning, the plan was to give them away in the hope that someone might decide to grow something. Maybe one tomato plant would become, “Yeah… I’ve got a garden.” Maybe a gardener would expand a bed, replace a little lawn, or build a trellis because they suddenly needed more space.
I’ve given away scores of seedlings—sunflowers, zucchini, winter squash, tomatoes, peppers, and eggplant.
Now the extras are almost gone, although if you’re a friend and you’d like a zucchini or winter squash seedling, you’ve still got a few days to ask. And if you’d like sunflowers, I’ll simply dig up one of the many volunteers that appeared thanks to the tireless planting efforts of hungry birds.
As summer rolls on and the harvest really begins, I’m sure Rat’s Tail Radishes will appear at potlucks. Green and yellow beans will find homes with neighbors once Rebecca falls behind on her bean-eating duties. Tomatoes will make their way to friends and colleagues.
Gardening has become one of my favorite ways to care for the people around me.
I’ll end with one more story.
Rebecca used to describe herself as a “suburban girl.” Vegetables, she joked, came from the freezer aisle at Target. Back then, I ate most of what the garden produced. She happily accepted potatoes and winter squash, but many of the other vegetables weren’t exactly her thing.
Over time, though, our garden has become more our garden.
Every year I make gallons of tomato sauce for the freezer because we both love homemade pizza and pasta covered in spicy sauce. We freeze shredded zucchini for chocolate zucchini bread throughout the year. And while I’m not much of a green or yellow bean enthusiast, I grow plenty because she loves them.
Spinach and arugula, however, remain lost causes.
On her less diplomatic days, she says they “taste like dirt.” (“How does she know what dirt tastes like?” I always wonder.) On her kinder days, she simply says they’re “too earthy.” Fair enough. I like earthy. She doesn’t.
A few days ago, though, I told her she ought to try the lettuce. “I think you’ll like this.”
She did.
Now she asks me when I’ll be heading back into the garden with my kitchen shears.
And every time she does, I feel that wonderful mix of pride, gratitude, and affection that only comes from growing something you love—and sharing it with someone you love even more.
