Posted June 13th, 2004 by Michelle

I’m starting to think that maybe having a garden is utterly selfish. And crazy expensive. This is the first time in my life that I’ve had to pay for water and I can’t help obsessing about it. Every time I turn on the water to wash dishes, I see greenbacks pouring down the drain. I wait until I’m absolutely desperate to do a load of laundry, and the days of me standing in the shower, hair lifted, drumming water on my back, are long gone. I’m also realizing how much water one little ‘ol person consumes. I live alone and yet when I think about the shower, toilet, kitchen sink, bathroom sink, washing machine AND garden I just can’t believe how much water I use. And what was I thinking, planting things in earth so dry and hard-packed that the tree roots have risen to the surface in hopes of someday feeling rain.

And am I going to eat every single tomato that grows on the vines? I can hope that each of the four plants will ripen at different rates but HOW CAN I EAT FOUR PLANT’S WORTH OF TOMATOES???? Seriously, what was I thinking. My squash plant is wilted by about 2 in the afternoon, long before the hottest hours, and I have to cover it with a slatted deck chair and spritz it with more precious water if I want it to survive the day. I sit out there, in my lovely yard, and watch liquid money dance all over my baby plants while simultaneously usurping what feels like half the world’s clean water supply. I mean, clearly this is my latest neurosis but I’m confronted with it every day. It’s an interesting exercise, having to pay for what I consume. I wonder how many hamburger eaters would be willing to kill, skin, and butcher a cow. I wonder how many hamburger eaters actually think about the life extinguished in the process of creating said hamburger.

I don’t think I’ve broken the fact on this blog that I am now officially a flesh eater. The only thing I can stand is fish, and lighter, whiter fish at that, but I’ve probably eaten something that had a mother every day for a solid month. It was my baker’s fault; he cooked me scallops. But he was also thankful, clearly, openly thankful for every beast that died in order to create sustenance. I’d never met anyone who actually thought about these things, and it certainly goes in the Top Ten Reasons Why My Baker is One of the Coolest Men Ever.

But I digress. Who am I to plant a garden when I’m surrounded by excess? There are hundreds of heirloom tomatoes at the farmer’s market every Friday, and every week I can’t eat the last one or two that I bought the week before. Those will keep appearing, and they are probably grown in soil far better suited to plant life and therefore far less wasteful. Yes, they are a whopping $3.50 a pound, and that certainly sucks, but god knows that by the end of summer I’ll have spent exponentially more on my water bill, and probably shaved years off my life because of all my guilt.

Oh, and these stupid little bugs are eating my basil. Damn bugs! Stay off my favorite herb! (Which, incidentally, needs very little water.)

The skin tags on my face are back, as is my plantar fasciitis and eczema. Man, getting old sucks. Know why I’m feeling older all of a sudden? Because it’s BIRTHDAY MONTH!!! Only fourteen shopping days left!

Well. That was a paltry effort. I’ve been lax in creating birthday months for the past couple of years. It’s June 12 and there has yet to be fun of any kind.

Maybe for my birthday I should ask Mother Nature for summer rains.