As we put our veggie plots to bed, I consider a future where growing food isn’t just fun for my kids, but necessary.

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All photos by Christina Myers

There’s a small window on the west coast between summer’s brief heat and the rain that dominates the rest of the year, which leaves only small pockets of time in early autumn to strip the garden for winter. A few weeks ago, our garden boxes overflowed with tangled vines, tidy rows of leeks and carrots, and mounds of mint and parsley. But now all that remain are a few late beets, a pair of heavy-headed sunflowers, and a trio of fat pumpkins waiting for Halloween.

It’s messy work, chopping back vines and pulling plants out by the roots while making sure to leave the perennials — the strawberries, the herbs — untouched. I can feel winter in the soil now, a chill that makes my hands ache if I forget my garden gloves. The ground is already muddy, and the morning dew burns off later and later each day, cousin to the coming frost. By day’s end, I’ll have dirt in my hair, on my knees, and under my fingernails. …


Christina Myers

Writer. Editor. Enthusiast. Maker of things. she/her

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