My dad grows an amazing garden each year. He always has, at least as long as I can remember.
When I was a child, I didn't appreciate the whole process so much; I was never really excited about the privilege of helping out in his garden, whether that was picking strawberries, pulling weeds, or shelling peas. And definitely not digging potatoes. :)
But things change. I grew up and moved away.
Now I live in the city, and my "yard" consists of an enclosed glass porch on the third floor of an apartment building.
When spring comes to Beijing, I sometimes get a little nostalgic, remembering the old days and the big garden back home.
This year, with the help of my girlfriend Liz, I made a little garden space on my porch. It's been pretty fun to watch everything grow.
It's not quite the same as a garden outside in the country, but it's a pretty good substitute.
And it's not nearly as hot as a Kansas garden, which is a big plus.
I owe any success at this to my dad and his green thumb. Perhaps watching him work in the garden all those years rubbed off a little. I've been asking him for some horticulture advice along the way.
So far so good.
