No, this is not a prematurely early reference to the pantomime season. I loathe pantomimes. Oh yes I do! Although the ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’ folktale itself is quite compelling as a story, for me the magic of growing is a far more magical, and ultimately a more profitable, experience. Who wouldn’t be mesmerised by beanstalks curling their way around canes? Six foot, eight foot; sky high if you like! Delicate little plants that turn into sturdy, bountiful, bearers of long green pods that taste divine in all their beanie loveliness.
As a child I was always fascinated by anything you could grow from seed: the obligatory cress on the windowsill of course, but also flowers, tomatoes and many other wonders. My family weren’t hot on ‘grow your own’ even though we had a huge 160 foot garden, but somehow I got the bug. I’m not sure if it was uncle Ray’s veg patch, or the allotments I spied from the other side of the park, but something lodged itself in my psyche.
I’ve never lost the utter wonder of growing something from seed, especially if it’s something edible! How do mammoth squash and courgettes emerge from tiny seeds, no bigger than a finger nail? Huge leeks form from a black spec twist of peppercorn? It is nothing short of amazing. It doesn’t matter that I’ve grown things from seed for decades, I don’t think I will ever stop being in awe of the miracle of nature shooting up and out, reaching for the sky, turning seeds into edible abundance.
I’m not particularly green-fingered. Not everything I sow germinates, and not everything that germinates produces a crop. The runner beans are a disaster some years, and the courgettes sometimes miss the sunshine in a cool, dull, year (as we all do in this northern neck of the woods). Thankfully, there is always something that does well. Lettuce, tomatoes, whatever it is I’m never disappointed.
I count myself lucky that I’ve always known where my food comes from – I know that peas don’t come from the freezer section of the supermarket, and I can identify a carrot or swede, or even more exotic delights such as aubergine. That’s because, although my parents didn’t grow fresh vegetables, we did buy and eat them, usually from the local market. It’s heartening to see projects such as ‘food for life’ and ‘TasteEd’ teaching young people about food - where it comes from, getting them involved in tasting, cooking, eating, and even growing vegetables. It’s sad that we need such initiatives. In an age where we can be so disconnected from nature, encouraging people to ‘grow their own’ and giving more children the opportunity to experience the power and wonder of nature first hand can still provide that little bit of magic. And you don’t need to be a child to experience it. O yes, you can!