Grow your own...if you dare

I have been growing my own vegetables for a few years now. First in the wake of the BSE disaster, when we all decided as a family to eat less meat, somewhat redundant a decision since we only actually ate chicken on a regular basis; then in the wake of rising food prices and climate change. I decided it was time to do my bit. So I bought some runner bean and green bean seeds, popped them into propagators with some compost, watered religiously, and hey presto. Shoots appeared. They grew and grew and I transplanted them into individual pots, except that there were scores of them, and half way through pot transplanting I got, well, just a bit bored and decided to put three in each pot instead of one so they wouldn't feel lonely and I could get on with my next chore. And that was good for a few weeks and then they grew like Jack's Giant Beanstalk, and out of the pots they came, except for the ones I had planted in threesomes - those I had to spend tiresome hours untangling before planting them in the ground. Why don't you just chuck those ones out, said a visiting friend of mine - one of those friends whose executive refridgerators contains only a flat half drunk bottle of prosecco and a mouldy orange. I am strongly tempted to take her advice, but unfortunately Mummy hormones have set in, and it feels to me as if chucking them away would be tantamount to murder. I explain this to my incredulous friend, who calls on me to consider whether eating their fruit would not therefore constitute cannibalism. I ignore her, separate my conjoined shoots, and plant them out. A few weeks later I look out on a tangled tropical jungle. I run out for bamboo canes and prop my runner bean plants against them. They outgrow them in two weeks. I run out again for extra large bamboo canes. These just about hold the show together. A few weeks later, beans start to grow. About five of them. I display them with great pride. I steam them and present them at the dinner table. The kids refuse to eat them so my husband and I tuck in, taking care not to rush each bite since the portion is quite a small one. A few days later I harvest two or three more. A month later I dig up the lot and chuck it into the compost bin. So much for year one. But, the Winter serves to dull the memory of all the hard work and the next year I am back, this time with carrots, potatoes, cauliflour, beetroot and squash. Once again I have propagators all over the kitchen floor. One of my kids steps into one by mistake. RIP squash. The rest I plant out as shoots begin to show, except for the beetroot, which totally fail to show. I have absolutely no idea why. Of the rest, the carrots grow pleasingly, and I harvest about 15 of them, all of which are about the size of my thumb. I yield about 5 potatoes, which are yummy and which I make chips with, along with the bag of Maris Pipers that I bought from Tesco. The cauliflour plants yield pretty flowers, then they shrink and commit suicide. Basically, I have no idea what I am doing. I look at TV footage of Nigel Slater's extraordinarily professionally laid out cottage garden, with his greens and carrots and potatoes and courgettes and whatever all laid out in rows with little ditches in between and I practically salivate before I remember that it is highly unlikely that Mr Slater is tending his garden without help. Growing veg is not easy. Do not believe the back pages of the supplements. They require good soil, loads of water or not much water ie read the instructions and google lots of background information. They need lots of sun, especially tomatoes. They need constant attention to weeds and insects. If organic then ridding your veg plants of these insects is tortuous. If not organic, then you can nuke them with a good old spray of something evil from your local Homebase, but then it slightly defeats the object to be growing your own veg in the same way most supermarkets source their mass produced homogenous, freeze dried crap. This year I have had a major makeover in my garden - part of my programme of activities designed to help ease the pain of loss after my sister died of cancer last Autumn, eight months ago - and soil enrichment being part of the garden designer's plan, I am growing veg like it's coming out my ears. Salad has taken over my planet. Peas are rampant along the fence. Courgettes are flowering like there is no tomorrow. Pak choi has been served in two stir fries and counting. Herbs, herbs, herbs. Who knew frying sage made for such a yummy garnis? Who even knew I would be using a word like garnis?  Growing your own is 95% effort, to 5% eating satisfaction. But that 95% can count for so much if you have the enthusiasm for it.  I cradle my handful of baby carrots to the unfeeling derision of my family and think, yeah but I GREW these! By myself! With backache, spider bites, jagged fingernails, and gardener's bum to prove it. I am a Provider.  Oooh look, Bridget Jones Diary is on TV. Pass the remote.